


Bluetiful

by PhoenixDiamond



Category: Les Schtroumpfs | The Smurfs, Trolls (2016)
Genre: Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drama & Romance, Eventual Lemon, Eventual romance between two males, F/F, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mild Angst, Romance, Trolls, Trolls/Smurfs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 16:06:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 69,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12868143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDiamond/pseuds/PhoenixDiamond
Summary: It’s not like he’s never heard singing before. Singer Smurf is the best in his village. It’s just, well Hefty Smurf has never heard a voice this. . . enchanting before. Papa Smurf won’t get too mad if he goes a little deeper in the Forbidden Forest. Something that sings that beautifully can’t be all that bad, right?  Only, when he discovers what it this, this funny looking tall-haired Smurf isn't as friendly as Hefty thought he'd be.





	1. Midnight Blue

**Author's Note:**

> I don't expect to get too much traction with this story and that's perfectly fine. But if I didn't get this out of my system, I swear I was going to explode. For those of you willing to take a chance and enjoy this, I welcome you with open arms and appreciate you placing your trust in me to bring you a satisfying crossover slash story lol. Please enjoy!
> 
> *I do not own Trolls or Smurfs. They belong to their owners.

**Song: I’m Ready by Tevin Campbell aka Powerline ^_^**

 

**Midnight Blue**

 

_‘There it is again. Where is it coming from?’_

It’s for the third time this week, Hefty can’t finish his workout regime because his ears tingled with harmonious tunes coming from the outside. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal. Singer Smurf sings all the time. Maybe it’s because there’s a difference in tone, or the octave is much smoother. Maybe it’s the fact that it carries weightlessly in the wind and seems to swirl around only Hefty’s ears because no one else hears it.

Which is really bizarre. He’s had Brainy Smurf, Clumsy Smurf, Farmer Smurf and Grumpy Smurf hang around for a full day and none of them noticed it. They’re either deaf or simply ignorant of what goes on the outside. It’s as if the song only held him captive, like a siren drawing in an unsuspecting victim.

It’s become addictive, listening to the faint and utterly sensual hymns float into his eardrums. Staying near the edge of the village becomes part of Hefty daily habits now. Some days he hears the sultry singing drifting from deep within the woodland. Other days, Hefty is disappointed when he’s met with silence the entire day. On rare occasions, he’s lullabied to sleep. He spends entirely too much time standing at the edge of the village like a sentry, eyes peeled for danger when it’s his ears doing the sensing.

Forever listening, forever waiting, anticipating.

Every few days, Hefty feels more and more compelled to venturing out to find the source. He is nearing the point of going absolutely insane if he doesn’t figure out what it is soon. But drat, he can’t just leave the village. Everyone will worry. The last thing he wants for anyone is to be concerned about his safety. Even he knows he can tend to be a bit reckless and impulsive and thoughtless to his own wellbeing.

But if he doesn’t go see where that song is coming from, he isn’t sure what he’ll do. 

It’s with huge reluctance he decides to confide in the one Smurf who shares his thirst for discovery and restlessness. Sad to say, but she’s the only one who gets him. She knows what it’s like to be unique.

The early evening finds Hefty lightly rapping three times against Smurfette’s door. He doesn’t wait for her to answer. Sighing he steps away and takes a strong leap to climb upon her mushroom dome and reclining against the protruding hump.

He looks up at the sky, towards the speckling stars peppering through the darkening horizon, and wonders if whatever’s singing can see the same sky right now. It could be anything. When he and Team Smurf found the tribe of female Smurfs, shoot, the sky’s become the limit. Perhaps there’s another race of Smurfs out there that haven’t been discovered yet and they’re just waiting to be found. Maybe all they do is sing and dance and hug and be merry.

Hefty snickers at the absurdity of it. How strange would that be? Who could be happy that much?

A nudge at his ear interrupts his thought processing. He gazes up, smiling softly at the upside-down view of Smurfette wiggling a treat. “Berry for your thoughts?”

Hefty sits up, patting the space beside him. “Granted.” He takes the offer, munching away at the blueberry and using the moment to gather his brain cells into some semblance of sanity.

Smurfette settles next to him, tucking her legs to the side, tilting head. “So, what has you here this evening?”

He swallows his last bite. “You mean Brainy hasn’t blabbed already?”

“Well,” she drags the single word for a long time until his frown urges her to continue. “He did mention that you’ve been acting a little weird. Even for you.”

“What kind of weird?”

“The kind of weird that beats his weird. That’s why he’s so creeped out. He says you’re outdoing his weird quota and that usually leads to the four of us getting into trouble.”

 _The four_ being the usual foursome who receive the most punishments because of their inability to stop getting into so much danger: Hefty, Smurfette, Brainy and Clumsy. Well, Clumsy is just a walking disaster on his own.

“I won’t drag you guys down with me on this one,” grumbles Hefty, drawing up one leg to perch an elbow on. He bends his head back to stare at the sky and exhales. “I’ve been hearing this strange, um, sound, coming from the Forbidden Forest.” At her surprised gasp, he quickly adds, “Take it easy, I haven’t investigated it.”

“Yet,” she snippily says, frowning. “You can’t go by yourself.”

Hefty looks at her. “Why not? You were gonna go on your own when you saw the new Smurfs.”

“That was different. I _actually_ saw one. You believed me.”

“That’s right, I did. So, why can’t you believe I’m hearing something?”

“It’s not that,” she softly defends. “It’s just,” she quietens and bows her head.

Hefty rolls his eyes, and folds his arms, glancing away.

“I’m just worried you’ll get yourself hurt.”

“I can take care of myself,” huffs Hefty.

“I don’t deny that.” She touches his shoulder. He doesn’t look at her right away, which is alright. Hefty knows that she knows it isn’t to be intentionally rude. It’s how he is. Looking in her eyes now would weaken his resolve and he simply refuses to give up on this. “I’m afraid of whatever you’re looking for disappointing you. What if it’s Gargamel trying to lure us into another trap?”

That’s something he’s never considered. As many times as that stupid wizard’s succeeded in using his silly gimmicks to bring the Smurfs out of hiding, that should have been at the forefront of Hefty’s mind. But his impulsive nature is much too stubborn to care.

“At least I’ll know,” he finally says, low and determined. “Don’t fight me on this, Smurfette. I need your support on this. Please?”

Her bottom lip wobbles. She viciously shakes her head, blonde hair circling her whole head until it settles around her shoulders. “Only if I can come with you.”

“No, out of the question. I need to do this alone.”

“Why can’t I—”

“I need you here to cover for me in case Papa comes looking for me,”

Smurfette clamps her mouth shut, then shakes her head, voice thick. “I don’t like this, Hefty. What if you get into trouble? How will we know?”

Hefty smiles, taking his best friend’s hand, and scoots closer to hug her in his side. She buries her face in his chest, whimpering. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetie. When have you ever known anything to hurt ole’ Hefty Smurf?” He pinches her chin, drawing her eyes up to meet his own. “You have my word. At the first sign of danger, I won’t charge in blindly. I’ll think about it first.”

She gives a watery smile, nodding. “OK,” She lays her cheek on his chest, exhaling softly. “Don’t be gone long. Promise?”

A delicate peck at her nose seals the promise between them and they share a warm hug. Hefty knew coming to see her was the best choice. He feels a whole lot better, less guilty about his plans later tonight. He’ll be leaving as soon as he’s sure the rest of the village has settled down for the evening.

And just to exercise extra precaution, he’ll take the route that Nosey Smurf doesn’t always spy on.

Branch swats angrily at the swarm of fireflies buzzing by his ear and loses his footing in the slick moss. He promptly falls over and stumbles down the slippery slope beneath his feet and hears the high-pitch, whimsical laughs that could only come from the bothering insects that found his trip hilarious.

Then a couple dare to nudge at his shoulder and Branch acts on instinct to wave his hand this way and that to scatter them. “I know, I know!” He grumbles, grim-faced and flops on his back. These little jerks refused to leave him alone. All he wants to do is collect his lumber and go about his business.

But oh no, they refuse to let that happen. Anytime they hear someone sing the tiniest note, they’re ready to do backup. He’s had the urge just those few times. Why can’t they take a hint? He doesn’t feel like singing today. He’s entitled to an off day, right?

As if to answer that question, the whole lot of them suddenly pile up on his face, hide in his hair and rub their wings to create a comely coo. Jazzy boogie beats accompany the noise, awakening the urge Branch tries so desperately to keep bottled up. He groans, tossing an arm over his eyes as a humorless laugh bubbles forth.

“You annoyin’ lil pipsqueaks are gonna make me lose my voice!” He whines miserably. They cuddle his cheeks and hum in his ears.

They didn’t care. So long as he provides the pipes, they’ll be satisfied.

Branch lifts himself to a cross legged seat and huffs. The fattest firefly of the bunch, the one he’s taken to calling Pudgy, makes himself comfortable on the highest part of Branch’s royal blue hair and leads the rest in a rhythmical music.

“Fine,” Branch eventually concedes, pushing up to his feet and dusting off the bits of dirt and debris. “One more song. Just one,” he directs to them as they eagerly surround him. “Then you gotta gimme a break, alright?”

Pudgy happily buzzes and there’s no telling whether he’s agreeing or just thrilled to have won this argument for the tenth time in two weeks. Several of them bound away in the air, catapulting off his hair, ricocheting from tree to tree, and then ending their cheerful ovation by sparkling their colorful lights around his head like a stack of rotation hula-hoops.

Branch, in quick succession, snaps his fingers and encourages a louder shrill tune to add to his whistling. _“Baby it was uncool to love me, then leave me standing here now, without a goodbye.  
And maybe I am the fool you call me, 'cause I'll be here standing, waiting to hear you say to me. . .” _

A line of fireflies’ drift in lazy flight, purring in sync to their share of the song as Pudge takes the lead. _“I'm ready, (you know I'm ready) To love you (to love you) Forever (forever) Hey love now, come and love me forever more!”_

Branch finds himself smiling before he thinks about it. The force of the smile, the surge of happiness energizing him to sing puts a spin in his stride and a languid roll in his shoulders. _“Sometimes, when I'm alone, I feel sad. I know you'll leave me once again. And take my pride  
And maybe I am the fool you call me, 'cause I'll be here standing, waiting to here you say to me!”_

The teal blue troll’s enraptured by his own vocal chords, using the sleek, moist moss along his path to make his moonwalks fluid, to cushion his one-foot turns and the swaying in his hips becomes a permanent part of his stride.

Let it be known, no one in his entire village has ever had the luxury of witnessing Branch be this enthused in song and dance. Out in the wilderness, where no one can judge him, call upon his angelic voice or make demands of him to utilize his talents, he’s free to express himself.

 _“And once again I'll be right here, waiting to share your love,”_ Branch runs through the forest, the octave building strong in his voice, the pitch accelerating to higher levels. Then he reaches a clearing, the moon apexes in the center of the clearest night and he holds on to his longest note like it’s the last he’ll ever sing, _“But I hope this time for once, we'll forever mend it ohhhhh. . . .!”_

Maybe this was a stupid idea. Hefty should’ve known all places in the Forbidden Forest weren’t the same. Papa always warns them about the Forbidden Forest’s radical magical properties. How it’ll misled victims into journeying towards imminent doom. Some legends say it takes wary travelers where fate decides, not where you want to go.

The trees are still enormous and looming. The sky’s pans in all directions with countless stars bunching together in groups so dense, portions of the sky resemble compact snow. And there’s grass taller than him out here. Seriously, why are there not animals out here to munch on this junk? It’s everywhere.

Funnily enough, none of those things concerned Hefty. He could be lost or stumble on his face and get scars. He has enough of them to fill a diary for decades. What he fears is failure; coming so far and having nothing to show for it. He’s been at this for hours, wandering where his memory guides.

Something in him—his heart or his head—he doesn’t know, but Hefty feels drawn to continue traveling southeast, towards the portion of the forest most dense and unexplored.

Then he hears the murmuring, the low humming verses muffled by distance.

The singing!

Hefty beams proudly, chest swelled with pride.

There’s no doubt this time. Hefty knew he’d found the source and it’s close by. With determination driving his feet like rockets, Hefty pushes through the shrubbery, shoving apart the tall grasses, kicking at the difficult forestry keeping him from his mission and comes bursting through a wall of greenery into an open meadow. . .

_“Ohhhhhhhh. . .!”_

. . . And in the center, is his singing siren, haloed by moonlight, stretching out the longest soprano he’s ever had the blessing to perceive. Hefty’s breath caught in his throat as he looks on in a deep, dreamy trance. What a beautiful, gorgeous voice. His imaginations don’t do it the sound justice. It’s beyond description, impossible to compare to anything that’s entered his ears and made him melt from within.

But. . . the creature isn’t a Smurf.

No, it can’t be.

Nothing about it is Smurf-like.

But does that matter? It’s something new, vibrant, and well, it’s blue like him. So, maybe it is a Smurf. Just a strange, pale blue with towering hair. Hair that oddly puts Hefty in the mind of a swaying Bluebell. It’s almost cute.

Hefty remembers how the female tribe had receive them last time and even if there’s just one of this creature, he wisely ducks behind the brush as it continues singing the last of its song and the lightning bugs adding further ambiance to his radiance, shoot up to the sky, cheering, squealing, and trilling aloud.

“Alright, alright. There, you happy now?”

Hefty eyes widen. Well, that eliminates what sex the creature is. Definitely a dude.

It—the teal hairy one captures one of the bugs out of the air and proceeds to brush his forehead against its round body. “Go settle in, Pudgy. I’ll feel awful if a bird caught’cha.”

The firefly nuzzles his face and nips his nose, earning some lighthearted chuckles. “Thanks buddy. See ya guys!” He shoos them away with hurried waves.

The teal creature stretches his arms overhead, leaning far right and the opposite side just as steeply and gives his head of long hair a furious shake. Looking around himself, his gaze suddenly lingers in the same direction as Hefty’s hiding place. The Smurf ducks as low as he can, flat to the ground. He knows he hasn’t made a noise. No one’s as agile as him. No one’s as adapt to forging through the woods and keeping out of sight.

When he dares to lift his head, the creature is nowhere in sight. Hefty frowns and panics, crawling on his hands and knees, looking in every direction. Where did he go? He was just there. No way he could’ve ran away without Hefty hearing where? —

“Ahhhhh!”

Hefty has seconds, if that, to roll to the side, narrowly missing where a long piece of sharp branch lies impeded in the ground. He rubs at his head. That could’ve been him.

“Who are you—what are you?!”

Hefty looks in the direction of the voice. From up high? He took to the trees? How the devil— “Whoa!” he jumps back when rocks rain from above. “Knock it off!” he calls out. “I’m not your enemy!”

“Then why were you hiding from me?” A disbelieving pause, then, “How did you find me? And-and what exactly are you?”

“Look.” Hefty steps further into the open, hands empty and loose at his sides, “I’m willin’ to answer all your questions, but not at the expense of you damaging my perfectly toned body. You have any idea how hard I work to look this good?”

More silence. A twig snaps behind the Smurf. Hefty spins around, fists poise to fight in case the creature decides to pull a fast one. He expects it to emerge through the bushes, but it’s still shocking to see it’s appearance up close and apparently understanding of his hesitation to trust it. Hefty grunts, lowering his fists, relaxing the tension in his muscles.

The creature steps out completely with a large sharpened spear strapped to his back, with his arms folded and a scowl permanently etched in his face. Hefty takes the chance to fully inspect his opponents body. They’re nearly equal in height, but that hair makes the stranger appear as tall as two Smurfs. Body-wise, Hefty’s got the guy in spades, but he doesn’t see him being a slender weakling. There’s some strength underneath those muscles, even if they’re not as prominent as Hefty’s. He’s wearing a vest made of sown leaves and patched pants, like someone who’s accustomed to subsistence living. And the guy’s skin’s such an odd shade of blue.

So weird. All Smurfs are a singular shade of blue. What Smurf isn’t the same cerulean he’s grown up seeing. The tall hair stranger skin’s a pale powder mint, like the reflections from a shallow river on a summer’s day.

“Don’t be afraid,” Hefty cautions, holding up one hand and using the other to shrug off his backpack. “I mean you no harm. My name is Hefty. Hefty Smurf.”

“I don’t care who you are,” snaps the creature. “I wanna know how you found yourself so close to my village. Stranger’s aren’t allowed!”

“Hey, hey, that’s understandable. I wouldn’t want any weirdos comin’ ‘round my family either,” Hefty tries to reason. “I wasn’t looking for your village. I was, well, I was following a voice I heard from my home. I think it was you. Do you sing out here sometimes?”

At the mention of his singing, a dark purple fills the creature’s cheek. “What if I do?”

“It’s beautiful!” Hefty happily informs. “Ever since I heard it, all I’ve wanted to do is seek you out.”

“Oh. . . Uh, thanks.” The creature’s glare lessens briefly. Then it’s back in place, harder than before. “Well, you know it’s me. Now buzz off.”

Irritation starts a steady trickle in Hefty’s chest. “What’s your problem? I’m trying to be civil here.”

The creature doesn’t say anything back, maintaining his lethal scouring over Hefty like he is the stain impossible to scrub away. And it’s flat out rude too, not to mention Hefty is beginning to feel a little self-conscious and discreetly lets his eyes chest his biceps to make sure they’re still as Herculean and thick as he’d had them seconds ago. Nope, he’s still the finest of them all, and immediately kisses his arm.

“Listen, Lefty, is it?”

Hefty dully looks at him. “It’s _Hefty_. _Hef-tee._ Your ears are too darn big to say ya didn’t hear me the first time.”

“Pfft, you’re one to talk. You’re definitely getting better reception than me.” The creature approaches bravely, unheeded to what he doesn’t know isn’t a threat, but the knots in his arms and shoulders reveal a warrior prepared to throw down. “I don’t know how your kind does things, but we aren’t as welcoming to every little thing that comes prancing out of those woods.” He finishes with a jerk of his thumb over his shoulder. “Do yourself and me a favor. Go back down the path you took to get here and erase your footprints on the way out. You’re gonna attract predators.”

“But.” Hefty feels disgruntled. This isn’t at all how he pictured his encounter with the singing siren. “Alright, I get it. Fine.” He folds up his hands, backing away and side steps around the creature. “I’ll leave, but can I have your name first? I’d like to add a name to the thing I searched so hard to find.”

The creature looked ready to spat out it isn’t any of Hefty’s business. Then he sighs like a punctured balloon and says, “It’s Branch.”

Hefty blinks. Was this guy serious? “Branch?” He then points up, confusion evident on his face.   “Like—like those up there?”

“Yeah, genius! Sheesh, go away already!” Branch shoves past him, storming off like something past furious.

Hefty looks him over again, eyes accidentally literally on the protruding tailless rear-end of this so-called Branch.

A smile unknowingly forms on the Smurf’s face. Something that annoying doesn’t deserve to have such a nice tush. A pity. He’s one interesting looking Smurf.

“By the way,” Branch suddenly calls out.

Hefty lifts his gaze, startled by the rapid distance put between them. That guy sure can move fast. “Yeah?”

Branch cocks an eyebrow. “You’re the freakiest lookin’ Troll I’ve ever seen.” Then he disappears down the slope, out of view, and possibly out of earshot.

But that doesn’t stop Hefty from stamping his foot and shouting, “I’m a Smurf!” With a vexed huff, Hefty spins on his heel to leave.

Then he halts, halfway towards the path that brought him here and glances one last time over his shoulder. He’s found what he was after. That’s what he wanted right? So, there’s no reason to stick around. . .

. . . Or he could? Hefty smirks, readjusting his bag over one shoulder. He could stay a while longer. No Smurf, outside of Papa, has ever been able to make him do anything.

There’s no way some tall-haired Smurf is going to.

He can do whatever he wants, thank you very much.

 

 


	2. Sky Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest. I wasn't expecting much traction for this story in the slightest and here I find fans for these two? Every single one of you reading this are worth your weight in gold! Thanks ever so much for the support. This chapter turned out to be longer than planned lol. Anyway, happy reading and please excuse any mistakes.

**Sky Blue**

It wasn’t all that hard living in the woods. Hefty expected a dramatic, overwhelming urge to hurry home, but he hadn’t once felt the urge. He’s retained the same grit and perseverance to survive for as long as necessary when hunting for his siren. That’s likely because, it became more than hearing Branch—the name is still too silly to not smile at—Hefty longed to see him again. Just another look, he assumes, will compensate his troubles for coming way out here from home. At least that way, when he returns home to talk of his discovery, he’ll have more than a negative encounter to recount.

Yet, he hasn’t been so lucky. Three days have gone past since Branch came to this place. Maybe it’d been a coincidence seeing him here. Hefty was gradually believing that to be the case as two days went on without a single sign of Branch revealing himself.

Within those five days, Hefty developed a habit of scouting out the upper, inner canopy of the forest surrounding the plain meadow below. He’d become stiff and antsy staying cooped inside a tree hollow. The bulk of supplies in his backpack left a wicked kink in his backside that could only be cured after a good workout and a reconnaissance around this unknown territory. He never ventures too far, simply taking to the highest part of the trees and taking long leaps between the trees, parallel to the path he followed from home. By nightfall, he’ll have returned with his arms full of harvested berries, white mushrooms, basil and oregano leaves along with a caterpillar and beetle strapped to his back with blades of grass.

The Forbidden Forest is still as wondrous and magnificent as the last time he’d ventured through. There are so many undiscovered plants and animals throughout the strange terrain. But he doesn’t face it with fear as Papa Smurf would appreciate he would. Hefty respects the dangers that could easily plague him at every unsuspecting turn. And yet, he can’t prevent himself from exploring the uncharted parts.

There are flowers that glow, caterpillars with vibrant colored fur and enchanting sights at every turn. There’s so much to be seen and so much to learn. He can never understand why, outside of Gargamel being the main threat, why Papa wouldn’t give them the chance to broaden their horizon.

So, it’s on the seventh day, while tossing a couple of saved Smurfberries in his mouth, and teasing a few butterflies that’d taken a liking to him since yesterday, that he hears a loud grunt and angry snort from below. The once peaceful environment is now being permeated with the disgruntled noises of a certain stranger.  The sound’s so familiar and a great surprise, Hefty can’t resist stuffing the rest of his meal under his hat and scurrying to hide behind a batch of leaves in the trees to spy at the direction the noise originated. \

The muscular Smurf knows he is well camouflaged, sitting so carefully tucked in the shadows of the twigs and leaves, and he doesn’t so much as breathe upon hear the crunch of dead leaves and sticks being snapped. If this is the Smurf—Troll—that weird Branch guy’s—idea of being stealthy, he needs to readjust his definition of the term. With all the ruckus he’s making, he’ll attract every big animal there is.

The enormous royal blue hair stalk navigating through the tall grasses easily confirms Branch’s arrival. When he shoves aside the grass, his face is profoundly scrunched in a tight scowl, his fists curled at his side and his stride rigid. Branch suddenly throws his head back and howls angrily to the side, turns and goes to the closest tree, stopping some feet away. What happens next will forever be burned in Hefty’s memory for as long as he lives.

All the troll’s hair coils into a massive wavering length, wavering and thickening—into something like a great giant whip, Hefty is sure of it—and it splits into three. In seconds, the left portion changes a deep scarlet, the color racing from root to tip. Then the other flushes a loud white, so blinding as to seem like a single pinpoint of light and begins to glow.

The tree he halts before is then struck with the force of Hefty’s own punches.

Each strike viciously tears a chunk of wood from the truck. A hack comes, then a yell, another powerful blow and another frustrated scream. It’s painful to watch, the poor tree suffering for the sake of the troll’s need to unleash some pent-up rage. Hefty can’t bear to watch, needing to turn away from the violence taking place.

It’s kept up for a few minutes before Branch sighs loudly and begins thumping his forehead against the tree’s undamaged side. Hefty doesn’t think twice about it. He steps out of his hiding place and carefully climbs down.

Upon his feet touching the ground, he loudly clears his throat. “Bad day huh?”

The troll spins around, startled to his wits and raises his hair so it imitates a swarm of technicolor vipers.

Hefty blinks at the display, eyes wide and astounded. “Whoa,” he whispers, smirking. “Ya know, I’d almost feel threatened if the squiggly things didn’t look like a Smurfy Christmas.”

They stare at each other, and then Branch, with a large sigh, lifts his hands to push his hair down his back. It takes a mere few moments for his royal blue hair to bleed through like a gleam of the deepest river water and it rises and blooms at the top.

“I didn’t know your hair could do things. Is it alive?”

Branch scoffs, flicking his wrist, halfheartedly. “Why are you still here? I thought I told you to kick rocks.”

“I took your suggestion into consideration, but,” Hefty folds his thick arms, shrugging indifferently, “seeing as you don’t look like my Papa Smurf, I’m free to roam as I will. And I’ll go where I wanna go.”

“Not around here you won’t!” snaps Branch.

“Oh, is that right?” A humorless chuckle. “You’re welcome to try movin’ me yourself if you got the guts. Fair warning though, these muscles aren’t just for decoration.”

“You think I’m scared of some muscle-bound, meat head, stubborn, no good, UGH!” Branch throws up his arms, then slumps his back against the tree until his rump hits the ground. He folds his legs into his chest. “Just go away. Leave me alone.”

His voice took on a wobbly tenor, almost drained. It’s nothing at all like the soulful melody he heard days ago. He would almost be inclined to think this creature wasn’t the same one, if it weren’t for Hefty’s sense of heart. Hefty grimaces at the soft frown on the troll’s face. And he can sense some troubling emotions filling this troll’s spirit.

“Hey,” Hefty murmurs, and steps forward, losing the edginess in his posture, and waits until Branch looks at him. “I never was the most observant Smurf back home. But I do wear my heart on my sleeve,” he indicates jokingly at the tattooed heart on his right arm, “I’m not the kind of guy who enjoys seein’ others feelin’ down.”

Branch’s mouth works into a small line and he glances away from concerned blue eyes. “What’s it to you, anyway?” he grumbles, cutting his gaze at the Smurf again. “Not like me bein’ upset is gonna effect you.”

“Maybe.” Hefty kneels before the troll, lips curling in a small smile. “Maybe not. But I’m a stranger with big ole ears and a ton of reception,” he adds cockily. He’s gratified to see the tiniest of barest smiles working on the troll’s face. “Well, well, well, look at that. The corners on your mouth actually do turn up.”

“Shut up,” snorts Branch. “Dummy.”

“I’ll take that jab.” Hefty leans around on one hand to sit a foot away from Branch and curls his legs into a crossed fashion. “So, you uh, gave that tree quite a beatdown.”

“And?”

“And I dunno, it seems like you needed to work something outta your system. Care to talk about it?”

“No,” Branch grunts.

“Oh, come on, what’s wrong with confiding in a friend?”

Branch snaps his head towards the other. “Lemme make something clear with you, Refty—”

“—It’s Hefty—”

“I’m not interested in bein’ friends. Go find somethin’ else to do other than bein’ in my face!” Branch surges to his feet and stomps to the furthest end of the open meadow and props down between the jutted roots of another tree.

Someone’s awfully stubborn. That’s super fine with Hefty. He’s worked with much tougher customers. To this day, no one can beat Grouchy Smurf’s attitude, although this guy comes at a close second, Grouchy doesn’t pout nowhere near as cutely. Branch’s fluffed up huff puts Hefty in the mind of an angry Glow Bunny; hardly scary. It’s why he isn’t deterred and goes to join Branch on the same tree.

Branch gawks as the Smurf makes show of himself getting comfortable against the tree. “Seriously?” the troll retorts. He gets up. “Leave me alone!”

“Nope, can’t make me.” Then Hefty proceeds to whistle a tune.

Branch blinks when it becomes a long, winded version of the song he’d been singing last week. Rolling his eyes, the teal blue troll slowly climbs to his feet and goes to another side of the meadow.

Hefty is hot on his trail, matching him step per step, tree per tree. Within minutes, Branch has grown so frustrated with the stupid game, he makes it known. By the tenth change in seating, Branch whips around, catching Hefty off guard and nearly having the Smurf collide into him.

“LEAVE. ME. ALONE!” Branch yells angrily.

Hefty folds his arms, arrogantly lifting his chin. “Nope. Not until I see you smile.”

“Is that all you wanna see?”

“Yep, show me that gorgeous smile.”

“No.”

“Come on, I know it’s in there.”  

“Are you serious? What is with you!” Branch kicks at the ground, stomps his feet and paces in a wide circle, speaking aloud. Or rather, speaking to someone else. “What is with everyone trying to get me to smile? Maybe I don’t feel like doin’ it today? Maybe I’m not up to bein’ all cheery, happy and bright? Maybe I-I don’t know how to smile!”

Then his hands fly to his mouth, slanted eyes shifty.

Hefty tilts his head a little. “You. . . you can’t smile? Is that what’s wrong?”

“Shut up.”

“That’s silly. Everyone knows how to smile.”

“Well I don’t.”

“Of course, you do. How do you know if you don’t try?”

Branch’s answer doesn’t come nearly as sharp or bitter as the previous times. “I—just—just leave me alone. . . please? I wanna be alone.” His hands come to curl under his elbows as his arms wrap around his torso. “S’not like talking about your problems helps anyway.”

“It could.” Hefty’s hand curves at his side. It’s not like home where he could touch or hug one of his brothers in their need of comfort. Branch doesn’t look like the type to welcome any physical contact. So Hefty tries for a softer tone. “Branch?” At the sound of his name, the troll glares a at the Smurf. “You don’t have to look at me as a friend. I respect that. You don’t know me from a hill of ants. But sometimes it’s easier to vent to a total stranger than someone who’ll judge you.”

Branch is silent for a moment as the struggle, so evident on his face, weighs on him to decide. The possibilities of talking to someone who he’s never met in his entire life shouldn’t be as enticing as it seems. It feels so stupid to dump his problems on someone he doesn’t know. And it feels even weirder for someone he doesn’t know to care enough to listen. It’s almost, peculiar, and mildly uplifting.

Branch sighs, long and hard, before giving his head of hair a rough shake. “Fine,” he pouts. He turns on his heel, marching off towards a tree they hadn’t arrived to yet and Branch climbs up on a high curving root and straddles the highest point. Hefty follows his lead, but keeps to a slightly decline then the troll and nods for Branch to speak whenever he’s ready.

There’s no hurried explanation. Hesitation maintains the silence between them for stretched moments. Hefty isn’t certain Branch will ever start talking until the teal blue troll starts talking low.

“Every single day, in and out, my village welcomes the morning with a song and dance skit. When I say every day, I’m talking flawless ritual. Everybody participates. It’s expected for every troll to do it because we sing and dance and hug to express our happiness. We’re always supposed to be happy about life. We throw parties and celebrate everything with fireworks, confetti and the,” Branch chokes back a gulp, “ _glitter_. So much of the junk just flying all over the place.” Hefty hides a smile behind his arm, keeping quiet. “So, stupid me decides to take a stroll through the village today because I needed some syrup. Then, um, I can’t remember if it was Cooper or Clay, one of the two, randomly asks ‘hey Branch come sing with us today’. My usual answer is I don’t feel like it. Then they say, ‘well, can we get a smile then? It’s Happy Smiles Day!”

A grunted snort is heard. Branch cuts his eyes at Hefty and the Smurf fixes his face.

“Long story short,” Branch continues, “it eventually became everyone asking me to show them a smile because they suddenly realize they’ve never seen it. I tell them I’m not feeling well, but do they listen? Nope. So here comes Poppy and Creek and the rest of the Snack Pack begging me to show them a smile. It becomes so much of a headache that I flat out screamed that I didn’t know how to do a stupid smile!” His voice rose towards the end against his will, chest heaving. He clears his throat, closing his eyes. “Then I ran away from the village, came out here and you bothered the crap outta me about telling you my problems, so there you go. That’s it. That’s everything. Satisfied now?”

Hefty nods once. “Very.” The Smurf gazes out at the lovely scenery to give Branch a moment to calm down. “Ya know, I understand where you’re coming from. About the whole needing personal space, I mean. Sometimes it gets intense in my village too. Anytime I don’t feel like bein’ around my family, I go for long walks or work out. But working out helps best. S’why I’m called Hefty Smurf.” He flexes his arm so the bulge of muscle swells on display.

Branch shifts his hands to reveal his face, giving the blue-looking-freak a very long, dry look. Then he says without a pinch of care, “You’ve got the stupidest name this side of creation.”

“W-what?” Hefty’s balks, offended. “I wouldn’t talk if I were you, Lil Bro. I mean, come on, who names their kid after a _part_ of a tree? Not the actual tree; just a _piece_ of the tree. They couldn’t name you something more sensible like Oak, Beech, Fir or Apple?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“You shut up!”

Tense seconds tick by as Hefty thought of a civil way to continue their conversation. His patience was gradually wearing thin, even for someone like him. He’s normally more controlled—maybe that’s too strong a word—well, more tolerable of others with their problems. But all Branch seems to want to do is pick a fight. It’s like the guy gets off on being rude.

“Sorry.”

Hefty does a doubletake. That was super unexpected. Here he’d been practically thinking of mean things in his head about Branch then the guy comes out of nowhere with an apology? “What for?” he can’t help asking.

Branch bumps his shoulders a little, avoiding curious bright blue eyes. “For bein’ rude. I’m not usually so impolite.”

“Pfft,” snorts Hefty. “I’d hate to see how pleasant you are on a normal day.”

Branch chuckles. “I have my moments.” There it was between them, the very first relaxed moment. Hefty almost sighs with relief, until Branch says something else to surprise him. “I’m still not all hung up on the idea of you creeping so close to my village, but. . . I gotta admit I’m curious. Tell me again what you’re supposed to be? Because you don’t look a thing like my people.”

“And you’re as different as they come. I’ve never seen others our size and so distinguished.” Hefty takes a chance to close the space between them, taking a seat on Branch’s left. Besides a wary lift of his eyebrows and moving a bit away to give them some respectful space, Branch doesn’t object. Hefty’s glad. “I’m always ready to learn as much as I can about the outside world. Let me tell ya, I’ve seen a whole lot of cool stuff, but. . . I think you’re the most interesting creature I’ve ever seen.”

Branch blushes softly. The color’s not red, but a pale shade of plum. It’s so amazing, the amount of distinct colors that he creates from every different emotion.

“How’s about a trade? I’ll tell you about me,” Hefty softly murmurs, “and you can tell me about you. Let’s get to know each other. What do ya say?”

Hefty holds out his hand.

Branch looks at it and then at him. He doesn’t keep the Smurf waiting and takes the hand in a firm, short shake. Then draws away. “You go first,” he suggests cautiously.

“Cool with me,” Hefty sniggers at the troll’s weary nature, then clears his throat. “Alrighty, Lemme see, where to begin. . .”

 

This time when Smurfette comes to patrol the large stone wall barricading the Smurf Forest from the forbidden one, she feels even more enamored to sneak through.

It isn’t like she doesn’t trust Hefty to take care of himself. It’s just she doesn’t trust the Forbidden Forest because it’s unpredictable peculiarity. Nothing’s ever the same for long. The trees will one day grow berries and the next it may change into a majestic oak. The soil can morph from dry and hard to moist and soft without a moment’s notice. It’s so unforgiving for a single Smurf to wander through even with Mother Nature on their side.

The wall of solid stone almost seems to mock her size. It reaches so high, endless and powerful. To this day, she doesn’t know who built it, and she respects their determination to keep the pure and innocent separated from the strangeness that doesn’t discriminate between good or evil. The consequences of fortune or misfortune will come out the same for whoever goes through the wall and in the forest’s domain.

Hefty is such a brave, courageous, sweet fool.

Smurfette wants so much to know if he’s OK. Just a sign or hint. Anything to give her an idea on whether her friend isn’t out there injured or sick or worse.

Before nightfall steals the clarity of her surroundings, Smurfette has made her way back to the daisy garden and sits in the center of them, all white and pristine, all the same. Once upon a time, she’d given anything to be like the rest of the Smurfs; to have a place among them and not be so different. Funny as it is, it takes all her friends and family and the new female Smurfs to help her recognize her worth as a Smurf of all Smurfs. She’s as genuine as the rest of them despite her immoral beginnings.

Hefty saw through her demeanor immediately after Papa Smurf, viewing her as a close friend and confidant without question. It’s why she can’t stand the idea of something awful happening to him.

When she stands, a large green glow comes bounding in her direction and Smurfette knows without checking Bucky’s back that Brainy and Clumsy are there. “Hey guys,” she acknowledges when Bucky comes to a stumbling halt outside the daisy garden.

“Smurfette, it’s well past our curfew. Do you have any idea how mad Papa’s going to be if he finds out you’re not in your mushroom?” Brainy straightens his glasses, chin up. “Very upset and may I add that I’m just as shocked to see you out here at this hour. It’d be different if you had someone here to accompany you and that’s usually Hefty’s province—”

“Speaking of Hefty,” Clumsy loudly interrupts while struggling to untangle his foot out of Bucky’s saddle. “Have ya seen ‘im, Smurfette? Hefty’s been gon’ fer ages. I’ve been meanin’ ta’ ask ‘im if he felt like goin’ Smurfboarding.”

Smurfette flinches from foot to head, fingers twiddling. “Well, he’s, um, around,” she gulps, “around here somewhere.”

“Really,” Brainy drags dubiously. He demounts Bucky’s back, keeping a firm hold on the glow bunny’s snaffle rein. “Why don’t you say that again, and kindly look me in the eyes, please. You know I detest being spoken to from the ground.”

Smurfette swallows heavily, nervously lifting her eyes. She knew better than to do otherwise. Brainy Smurf isn’t your run of the mill average Smurf. He’s as observant as he is intelligent and he’s loves to base many of his visual analysis on body language. It might take a while, but he always manages to get his answers without needing to further interrogate his test subjects and that’s exactly what Smurfette felt like, being inspected and probed by Brainy’s intense focus.

“Oh, my Smurf,” Brainy suddenly breathes and his gaze snatches from the female Smurf and to the wall in fast sessions. “Don’t you dare tell me that big oaf crossed into the Forbidden Forest!”

“Brainy don’t—”

“Don’t what? Tell Papa Smurf that our freaking friend is somewhere lost and alone in the Forbidden Forest because that’s what a sensible comrade would do? You have to be kidding me!”

Smurfette hurries to grab Brainy’s hand as he attempts to climb on Bucky’s saddle. “Please, Brainy, don’t tell Papa. Hefty will be so upset with me for revealing his secret.”

“I don’t care how the idiot feels. It may very well save his skin. Who knows what’s happening to him in those woods.” Brainy shoves Clumsy back a bit to settle in the front and pulls the reins to guide Bucky back towards the village. “And you know what? Shame on you for letting him go. Need I remind you of the countless times he’s nearly gotten us killed because of his impulsive need to be a thrill seeker?”

Smurfette dashes around to cut off their path. “It isn’t like that this time. Hefty’s not out there searching for danger. He’s. . . he’s really determined to find something.”

“Like what? What can possibly be so important for him to go exploring the unknown?”

Smurfette goes silent, unsure if it’s wise to say more.

Except, Clumsy hasn’t had a filter since the day he was born and blahs, “Probably ta’ go find that singin’ voice he told me ‘bout.”

Brainy starts, glancing over his shoulder, then at Smurfette. Same as before, he reads her like a book. “He actually went to investigate that phenomenon? That—that moron!” Brainy claws at his eyes and shouts. “Someone had better start explaining right this minute!”

Clumsy shrugs. “That’s all I know.”

Which leaves Smurfette and at Brainy’s sharp, demanding expression, she sighs with a difficult release. “OK, I’ll talk. . .”

It takes a while for Branch to realize he’s being stared at. He eventually returns the gaze, but Hefty’s quick to pretending he’s busy with plucking berries out of the batch they found while taking a leisure stroll through the woods. A part of the troll stirs. For each time he’s caught Hefty staring at him, the expression’s unreadable, his thick black lashes hooding the bluest of blue eyes he’s ever seen. Branch doubts there’s a troll alive who matches such a luminous shade of blue, as enchanting as translucent sapphire.

But then he quickly reminds himself he’s staring just as openly while the Smurf’s back is turned and goes back to picking the weirdest herbal leaves he’s ever heard of. “Tell me again what these are?” He holds up one of the large, thick plated leaves and sniffs it. They have a very strange odd, sweet scent.

“Sarsaparilla,” laughs Hefty. “My stock’s low, so I need to pile up.”

Branch nipples the tip. His face turns green and he spits the horrid taste from his tongue. “Ugh, this junk’s gross!”

“Really?” Hefty munches his weight in a handful of them, a thick green stickiness coating his mouth and chin. When he swallows, licking over his fingers, he adds, “They’re my favorite. My whole tribe lives for this stuff. It’ll change the flavor of tea in a wink.”

“I can see why. No wonder you can eat it.” Branch glares at the offensive plant before tucking it away in his hair. “The taste’s so bad, your tongue’s gone numb.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

“Anywhere, where did we leave off before? Something about, um, Smurfs, right? Yeah, that’s it. Smurfs are all blue? So, you guys aren’t any other colors?”

“Yep, every single one of us. We all look alike too.”

“Sheesh.” Branch can’t imagine. “Everyone in my village looks different. We’re all different colors, different hair styles, different personalities, everything. How can you tell each other apart?”

“That’s easy! Look at me.”

The sound of movement hit Branch’s ears then, and the troll swings around. Just what is that idiot about to do—

What?

Branch blinks.

And blinks again.

“OK, I highly doubt all of that showboating is really necessary,” he says defensively, averting his eyes everywhere, but at the Smurf’s extremely defined back muscles and biceps. Hefty goes to stretch out his arms and chest. “You can stop now. Like I need more evidence to back up the fact that you’re thick all over all.”

Hefty shoots him an unfriendly look. Branch thought it was a valid statement, really, because he hardly asked for a showcase of how impressively toned the Smurf is. Not like he doesn’t walk around without a shirt so the whole entire world knows he works out.

“So, you think we have enough of these for you to live on? And how long do you plan to stick around anyway?”

Hefty pauses, mid-plucking of a leaf. “Huh, good question. I hadn’t exactly got around to thinkin’ when I’d need to head home.” Another long silence follows before he softly continues uncertainly, “Actually, I have been gone a while. I hope they aren’t too worried about me.”

“Why not head back home? Check in and then come back?” It’s far too late to realize how that sounded. Branch wants to kick his own romp for encouraging the guy to return.

Hefty throws a smirk over his shoulder. “Aww, check it out. I knew I’d grow on you.”

“What? Get real,” Branch snarks with an unhappy snatch of a couple of leaves. “At least when you’re gone I’ll finally have some peace and quiet around—ow!” While he’d been talking, filling the air with his usual cynical, haughty attitude, Branch felt a sharp drag along his finger and draws back, hissing. “Dang, that smarts.”

“What happened?” Hefty pushes what he has under his hat and goes over to check on the troll.

“Nothing,” mutters Branch, cradling his hand close. “Just a nip on my finger. Probably one of the twigs. Still hurts like spit.”

“Lemme see.”

Branch steps back, frowning. “No thanks, I’m good.”

Hefty rolls his eyes. “Come on, I won’t bite.”

“I said I’m good.”

“Just show see.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

Branch dodges the Smurf’s reach. “Back off!”

“Don’t be stubborn.” Hefty misses again and again. He’s impressed. “Wow, you’re nimble. Dude, just let me have a look.”

He finally seizes the troll’s wrist after predicting his next step. Branch pulls hard to no avail. Once more and another try proves just as futile. Seriously, there isn’t the slightest give for each attempt he tries tugging in the opposite direction. It’s embarrassing. Then a tough struggle commences and the sudden thrashing startles Hefty into loosening his grip, but Branch doesn’t get far.

He is pretty sure he achieves at least two steps of freedom before he feels a strong arm curl around his waist, hauling him backwards against a smooth wall of flesh that didn't yield in the slightest. "Freakin’  _no_!" He howls, hairs outstretched and wiggling. "Let go, let go, let go. I swear I’m gonna punch you out, you big blue doofus!”

“I've heard that one before,” a faintly amused voice says against Branch’s temple, warm breath brushing his hairline. "You should probably come up with a threat you can actually make a reality." When Branch wrenches violently, the arm around him tightened, pinning his arms to his sides so he could do little more than thrash ineffectually. This went on for a while nonetheless, until eventually he subsides and pouts.

"What now?" Branch says eventually, when it becomes apparent that he isn't being released. "Because you should do something if you’re gonna do it. Having my body tightly pinned against you is raising some very uncomfortable questions." As far as barbs went, he thought that was pretty good, probably more than enough to gain his freedom. Instead he feels a small breath of amusement gust along his cool skin, and Hefty leans forward over his shoulder, just enough that Branch could see the curve of his jaw and his lower lip as he speaks.

"You'll try to fight me if I let go," Hefty muses. "I can read it on your face and your hair’s freaking me out. And there’s the fact that I’m not tryin’ to keep you like this. So, this puts us both in a bind."

“So?”

“So, cooperate and we can both get what we want.”

Swiveling his forearms, Branch brings them up and finds that his hands could just reach Hefty’s triceps arm. If he turned his head and exerted enough pressure, he might be able to bash his forehead against the Smurf’s and get loose. Or possibly clap air in his ear. These options spin through his head as soon as he relaxes enough, both probably completely successful plans to get him free. And yet. . .

“That’s what I thought,” Hefty says after a moment. “Good call. Now, show me your hand.”

Branch feels the grip loosen around his waist—it’s so much easier to breathe now—, but he wasn't completely released as a stubby-fingered hand captured his injured one and used it to turn him in place, until he faced those implacable round eyes that had never seemed so like his own as they did in that moment.

“Well?” Branch demands, wagging his ensnared hand. “Did you change your mind? See? It’s just a stupid cut. No need to be dramatic over it. . . you. . . you don’t have to do that—ouch.”

Hefty had been staring intently at the blood puddling at the edge of Branch’s finger like it held the secret to some unknown mystery. It took Branch by surprise when the Smurf had very calmly lifted his restrained appendage and pressed his mouth to the angry prick on his finger.

The pressure hurts a bit, and he winches at the raw sting to proceed it, but at the hot-wet stroke of a tongue against his injured skin, Branch’s eyes grew real wide, very fast. “That’s enough, cut it out. I-it’ll heal on its own!” Something mortifyingly close to his heart going through a trepidation marathon flashes through his belly as narrowed sapphire eyes fix on his, so driven and strong even as his lips carefully suckled over the stunned troll’s skin. Wanting so much to break the connection in that gaze, Branch foolishly lowers his eyes to the subtle motions of Hefty’s mouth; smooth blue lips and the hint of straight white teeth and a long, wet stroke of warmth. He swallows uneasily, as his reasoning crumbles into a callow sensation.

Just as he assumes he’ll lose all sense of comprehension and sense and start panting ruefully, Hefty draws away, lazy eyes intense and his tongue taking a final sweep of his bottom lip. As if—as if the taste of Branch’s blood had lingered.

“You have rainbow blood,” Hefty murmurs, his voice woven with what almost sounds like contented wonder. “It tastes so sweet.”

The husky words come like a bucket of ice water in his face, and Branch wants to growl. As it was, he couldn't contain a visible cringe at the words. "Don’t say stuff like taste," he grumps, his voice hushed like he might be overheard. “I’m not a piece of candy.”

“No, you’re not.” Hefty looks as if he wants to say something more, but he considers his palm and clenches his fist. “I should, um, I think we should probably head in for the day.”

Branch doesn’t look at him. “Yeah, yeah, good idea.” He rocks on his heels awkwardly. “Thanks for, um, my finger.”

“No problem.” Hefty turns on his heels, fists tightly wound at his sides. Branch frowns, what’s gotten into him? “Say Branch?”

Branch jolts. “What?”

“I was wondering,” Hefty intones, rubbing a hand behind his hairless head, then glances once over his shoulder. “Same time tomorrow?”

His tone’s so unsure and marginally hopeful for a positive response. Branch doesn’t have the heart to say no. “In the morning.”

Hefty brightens. “Great! See you then!” His body posture changes and he’s proudly walking towards his tree.

With no reply worth making to that, Branch watches the Smurf depart, and stands there for a long time after trying to decipher exactly what had just happened. Something strange and crazy weird.

For the first time in ages, he is truly looking forward to having company.

His mouth feels weird. Lifting a hand, he brings it up to feel over his lips and feels his teeth showing, and his mouth curving up. He suddenly fixes his expression then turns to leave. That’s funny.

His mouth’s never done that before.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

****


	3. Pale Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far, this is my favorite chapter. Brace yourselves for some intense drama/action. Enjoy my dears and again, I can't thank you all enough for reading and loving this story as much as I do. You have no idea the amount of thrill I get every time I start on a new chapter. I'm loving Hefty/Branch (Blueshipping) as much as I do Breek! Anyway, please excuse mistakes!

**SIDE NOTE: I'm so absentminded! Guys, guys, guys, if you haven't seen it yet, please go check out Tealbull81's fanart of Hefty Smurf and Branch. I tell you guys, she has talent out of this universe. I can't stop staring at it. It was inspired by chapter one. Here's the link. The art is flipping gorgeous! Thanks again sweetness!**

**[Hefty and Branch's staredown](https://tealbull81.tumblr.com/post/168280794825/fanart-for-bluetiful-by-phoenixdiamond) from chapter 1.**

 

**Artic Blue**

 

“At least give us _some_ kind of hint!” Poppy’s gossamer and frail pink legs were no match for Branch’s strong, experienced thighs as she follows the teal blue troll deeper into the forest. Branch, though mildly irritated and amused, has to admire Poppy’s persistence—especially since he was intentionally going of his way to jaunt through the most intricate paths as fast as he could. It’s times like this he wishes he were still grey. Nobody bothered him as much and he could send away all unwelcome visitors with a sneer.  His colors are a beacon, attracting the villagers to him the like starved vultures.

Sighing, Branch snaps his hair on a low hanging tree limb and swings across a crevice, then slides along an embedded stone, slipping through some thick shrubbery and vaults over the undergrowth. He turns his head to hear his princess’s exasperated groan. Despite sustaining the silent treatment for most of the trip, Branch feels guilty. All Poppy is doing is trying to see what’s wrong with him. To her, a troll who isn’t always happy has to be sick or contemplating unpleasant thoughts. And Branch shows his appreciation for her concern by skipping out on all rehearsals, ignoring her offers for food and wandering in the dangerous woods as often as he can.

It's dusk and he isn’t comfortable with her tailing him in the dark so far from the village.

“Go back home, Poppy!” he orders from ahead. “I don’t feel like playing background singer today!”

“I’m not asking you to sing with us today,” she snips on the last four words offensively. “But I do want to know what’s so interesting out here? It’s creepy. Branch stop walking so fast. I can’t keep up!”

That’s the whole idea he wants to howl, but lets his speedy pace be enough of a notion.

At least Creek gave up halfway through. The fear of possibly blemishing his perfect complexion was too scary to tempt, but the idiot should have taken Poppy with him. Branch doesn’t feel up to acting as her protector because that will require him to return to the village and he simply won’t have that.

“Please Branch? It’s getting darker and I can hardly see you out here.”

Branch halts halfway through sliding between a pair of compressed twigs and checks over his shoulder. He can barely make out Poppy’s warm outline, the congestion of the forestry nearly swallowing her up. Branch groans and stamps his foot so hard, a shockwave snakes through his bones.

“For crying out loud, Poppy!” He snaps, crossing from rocks to branches and from those to the slope she is too exhausted to climb up. Her endless pestering is going to be the death of one of them. “Your perseverance knows no bounds. What’s it gonna take for you to go back?”

Poppy doubles forward, hands pressed to her knees, heaving in deep gulps of the fresh humid air. She waves for him to give her a moment to catch her breath. He folds his arms, impatiently tapping his foot.

“If you’d asked,” she breathes difficultly, “me that a few minutes. . . I’d say you telling me where you’re going. But I can figure that out tomorrow. It’s really dark. I can’t make it back on my own.” She looks up at him through pretty lashes, batting them innocently.

Branch stares at her long and hard. “You did this on purpose.”

She shrugs. “Now you’re responsible for my wellbeing. If you hadn’t been so adamant about leaving me behind—”

“If you’d just learn to mind your own business instead of being a snoop—l”

Poppy gasps, hands flying to her cheeks. “You take that back this minute. I am not a snoop!”

Growling softly, nearly inaudibly, Branch looks over his shoulder in the direction he’d planned to venture, but he couldn’t leave Poppy alone. Had it been Creek, he would’ve tossed the deuces and let the vain jerk find his own way back. Yet, he really doesn’t want to go back there.

Rolling his eyes, Branch relents, arms falling to his sides. “If I let you go with me, we’re spending the night in my old bunker, deal?”

Poppy squeals. “You mean you’re going to let me know your secret?”

“What? What secret?”

“Come on, Branch, you come out here practically every day. There must be something attracting you. What is it?” She crowds his personal space, leaning so close their noses brush. “Are you scrapbooking? Practicing how to dance? Singing?” Her eyes grow dull. “I swear if you’re out here singing, I’ll never forgive you. . . Or,” she suddenly gasps, eyes sparkly. “Oh Branch, are you meeting someone out here? Is that it? Are you having a romantic rendezvous with another troll? That’s it isn’t it? It has to be. No wonder you’ve been acting weirder than usual. You’ve finally worked up the courage to lure your crush out here to confess your undying. . . feelings. . .”

She goes silent.

Branch blinks.

Then she gasps so sharply, Branch worries it’ll be her final one.

“Is it me? Is that why you waited until now to come to me? Do you have a crush on me?”

Branch jerks back a step, baffled. “Are you nuts? No way. I don’t have the proper health requirements to deal with you!”

“Well, yikes, that’s moderately offensive.”

It’s his turn to shrug indifferently. And to sigh, “Just come on. I never stay long anyway.” He won’t tonight anyway. The destination he’d wanted to go will be altered just a little. Hefty’s no doubt waiting for him to come back. Branch feels a ping of guilt for keeping the Smurf waiting. He hadn’t meant for it to take this long, but having to haul Poppy along now, their meet-up may have to be postponed. There’s no telling how she’ll react to seeing someone so un-troll-like in every sense of the term.

He lets instincts drag him for most of the way, stepping through lesser steep declines, lower hanging twigs and keeping a steadier, easier striddle for Poppy to match with her shorter legs.  

By this time of evening, the forest really pulses with the kind of vivacity and haunting essence forbidden by the sunshine. A symphony of noise takes place all around, Branch’s ears twitching to catch each one. It’s lovely, the entire forest with its vivid luminosity and twittering insects and other creatures inhabiting the surrounding terrain. As Branch skips a set of scattered stones, holding on tight to Poppy’s hand, he gradually begins speaking about things to cherish out here.

The high rising canopy filters beams of moonlight in pretty beams and fist size holes grant views of milky star clusters. He darts across a languid river, cradling her to his back now because of the ground’s rougher constitution eating at her soles. They stall a moment to admire the bubbling river flowing beneath the log they’re standing on, acting as a bridge. Splashes of the chill water specks at Branch’s ankles. The silhouettes of gleaming fish, some shining a glittery silver and few sparkle like trapped sunlight, swim frantically against the river’s course.

Poppy eases off his back. “No wonder you like it out here so much,” she whispers in wonder, eyes brilliant and wide as an enchanted child. “Everything’s so incredible!”

“Yeah,” Branch feels his face flexing around his mouth. He allows it to happen, and notes it doesn’t feel tight as much as frowning does. He braces his hand on the log to lower himself until a sit and swings his legs over. “It’s easier to think out here. Much easier to breathe. I don’t feel, I dunno, confined the way I do in the village.”

Poppy hops into a cross-legged seat next to him. “You don’t like being around us?”

“That’s not it,” says Branch. “I just prefer my space. All that loud singing, extravagant pyrotechnics and coordinated dancing, can really wear on my psyche—if you tell Creek that, I’ll knot your hair, I swear. He already tells me my aura’s poisonous and keeps sending me that powdered tea junk.”

“I think it tastes, well, positive.”

“Positive you’re gonna live in the bathroom if you keep drinking it. And unlike Cooper, we don’t poop cupcakes.”

Poppy’s hands shoot to her mouth to cover a bunch of giggles. It contagiously sinks into Branch and he laughs a little too. He leans back, gazing at the bejeweled sky. It’s serene, the atmosphere, scenery, so peaceful. . . He wonders if Hefty’s seeing it too.

Dang, he really wishes he could let the guy know what’s up. Branch’s never been the sort to break a promise, even if it’s to a Smurf he barely knows. He doesn’t deserve to be lied to. Branch bends his leg up to his chest, draping his arm over the knee, and sighs. He gazes down the path towards where he would be heading. Maybe it’s third or fourth time he’s done it. He’s lost count in the comfortable silence. Absorbing the harmony here isn’t as easy as it normally is for some reason.

“Branch?”

Branch looks at her. “Yo’.”

Poppy tilts her head around him. “Is something over there? You keep looking that way.”

He stiffens, eyes shifty. “Not—really.”

“Oh, so _there is_ something, huh? Let’s go see!”

“What the what?” Branch turns around to face an empty space. Panic surges through him when he sees the pink troll racing down the worn path. “Poppy wait. Don’t run off on your own!” The path will lead to the clearing if she follows it correctly. Branch intentionally takes different paths daily so his scent doesn’t permanently saturate the ground. Of course, she wouldn’t understand the dangers lurking practically at every turn. “Poppy!”

Branch propels himself like a predator determined to catch his prey, sprinting with all his might to catch up to the foolish princess. He barely breaks through the undergrowth when he hears a bone chilling scream pierce the night air. Branch snaps his hair on the closest tree limb, swinging in great haste towards the sound of Poppy’s terrified screaming.

It isn’t coming from the direction Hefty is.

She hasn’t seen him.

That means something else has her.

“Damn it!” Rarely does such a vile world come from a troll, but Branch feels the need is justified under this circumstance.

He sails through the trees, listening for a telltale sign of something to lead him to Poppy’s precise location. Her screaming was coming from all around. “Poppy!” He lands on a branch, wildly searching the ground.

“Branch! Branch, help me!”

There! Taking a fierce leap, Branch catapults to the next tree, lassoing his hair in a large loop around the next tree truck and slides down, hauling towards the thrashing crunch of leaves, twigs and the sounds of a struggle. He viciously harangues himself for being so damn stupid. He should have taken her home, he shouldn’t let her come. He should have been sterner and made her go back. God, if anything happens to her now—

Branch bursts through the brush, coming upon the sight of a large orange furred, four-legged creature, tail lashing behind it as it clawed violently at a huddle of roots. Poppy’s broken cries were echoing from that tiny hideaway.

His fright is short-lived, the dread locking in Branch’s chest like a fresh stab wound, but he keeps going because the thought of Poppy getting killed scares him more than death. And then he hurdles over a rock and launches himself high.

“Hey, hey, hey!” he hollers, waving his arms. “Over here. Come get me!”

The creature yowls, momentarily distracted and searches for the interruption. It snaps it’s head up in time to toward Branch sailing through the air and raises its paw. Branch tucks and rolls his body to the side, landing hard on his right leg, ignoring the rippling shock. The teal blue trundles his head and cracks his hair across the creature’s backside in two quick successions.

The animal tilts it’s head back and snarls an ugly wail, head rotating around to lock enormous golden eyes on smaller, sky blue.

Branch’s been ensnared by the sight of a predator’s glare so many times in his life, spiders, centipedes, raptors, any and all things that hungered for a troll. He knew how to deal with those. But something about the way this one looks sent a chill up his spine. It isn’t natural, almost like the eerie reflection to one’s impeding doom, and Branch feels as though it were depicting his deadly end in those yellowy orbs.

Branch is so full of awe at the sight, he doesn't even notice the sudden shudder of the animal’s body until the tail swings straight at him. He doesn’t have a chance to dodge the strike, feels the impact knock the air from his lungs and throws him into the shadows of the woods.

Branch stares through squinting eyes at the creature lurching for him as his back impacts solid wood.

Crying out with breathless agony, bile rises in the back of Branch’s throat and the taste of a sugary copper choking him for an instant, and everything begins to grey out. He falls to the ground and it isn’t on soft grass. Something hard and rough connects with his head. Branch sucks in a harsh breath at the fiery pain coursing from either his head and his leg or back. He can’t pinpoint where it is coming from to fix it, there’s so much pain convulsing from all around him.

At another prolonged, feminine shout, something like terror rips through his pain-wracked body, adrenaline expelling the encroaching darkness around his vision. Groaning, Branch drags himself upright, shaking his head and even that blooms a pounding head rush.

The snarl above him is enough warning.

Branch rolls to the side off the jutting root he landed on, ignoring the bright spots circling around his eyes and reaches out to crawl out of reach. Claws rain down where he’d just been, trailing after him. He narrowly pulls his leg out of the way when the creature’s paw lands like a sledgehammer less than an inch away.

The ground splinters into a dirty web of cracks.

Branch stares at it, pain radiating through every part of his body when he moves. He’s in time to see the creature rear back on its hindlegs with both front legs rise and brings them down as one, destroying Branch’s small cover. Branch moves as fast as his dizziness grants and scrambles to his feet.

“C-c’mon!” Branch rubs his wrist under his mouth, feeling warm liquid there. It bust him up harder than he realizes. “Bring it, you overgrown piece of freak!”

It comes forward, lurking from a circling distance, tauntingly growling. Branch follows its every move, fists clenched in front of him. He musters some strength of will up into his hair, but vertigo prevents it from forming the proper defense. He can only conjure a thick, lengthy whip and waves it threateningly.

“Get back!” Branch shouts, retreating several steps when it advances forward. He slams his hair at the base of its feet, but the creature isn’t deterred. It comes closer, hunkered low, eyes an ominous glow against the pitch-black backdrop.

Branch can’t retract his hair back fast enough. It’s heavy too heavy, moving at a snail’s pace.

Then the creature pounces, claws extended. Branch turns. It’s paw slams brutally across his back in sync to an enormous weight bearing down on his entire body. His thoughts become instinctive, primal, flashing through his mind the instant that impact restrains him.

Fight back. Struggle. Don’t give up.

Branch closes his eyes as a lifetime of memories burn out into a clear, steely resolve to survive. All the years he’s suffered from blaming himself for incidents that weren’t his fault, for living alone to keep his emotions bottled away. He’s gradually stepping out of the shadowy darkness that plagued his life for so long. He can’t die. Not now. He can’t. It isn’t fair. He wants to live!

But. . . but it comes to this and he must die. . . then he can go gratified that at least Poppy is safe.

That doesn’t mean he will willingly die. He’ll give this creature a fight before he’s devoured.

Twisting and thrashing against the monster’s grip, Branch angles his head near one of its paws and clamps his teeth down into fur and flesh. The thing lets out a startled _‘rwor’_ lifting its injured paw with Branch still attached to it. He doesn’t care what happens from here. He isn’t going to let go and it’s with that determined thought cemented in his mind that Branch squeezes his jaws with all his might and wraps his arms and legs around the creature’s paw.

He’s thrown, and thrust this way and that, the monster desperate to get relieved of the throbbing pain. Branch grins. He hopes it hurts as much as he’s hurting.

Then he’s swung up and pressed to a muzzle where warm breath and humidity fans over his face before the vicious prick of teeth sink into his arm. The bite sinks deep, Branch keeps hanging on and fights at it tugging him the opposite direction. He sweeps his foot around to kick it in the eye. It doesn’t let go. It retaliates by sinking its fangs in Branch’s body so tight goes numb.

A wet sensation trickles down the warm skin of his forearm.

He feels it, the flesh from his arm tearing and burning and he knows his arm is about to be separated from his body judging by the grotesque cracking sound.

But it doesn’t come. Relief comes immediately when the creature’s fangs let off and Branch isn’t sure why.

His eyes spring open at the sensation of rapidly plummeting. He is both incredibly surprised and utterly relieved to see a flash of cerulean blue appear and disappear. Whether it’s a troll or Smurf, the thought of surviving after all makes him sob with glee. His jaws loosen and he does feel gravity greedily snatch him to the ground, but where he had braced himself to connect with solid ground, his body gives a slight jerk at being caught and cradled.

Through a colorful, wet blur, Branch lifts his head, vaguely making out a blue outline and connects the warm firm chest on his cheek as being only one individual. He sighs with relief and realizes no amount of happiness could compare to this moment. He’s alive. He’s going to live, thanks to this big blue doofus.

Realizing he’s shaking, Branch’s head lists helplessly on Hefty’s chest where his ear presses over a strong heartbeat. “Sup, Blue,” he whispers. “S’rry m’ late. Kinda g-got tied . . . tied up.”

Stubby fingers squeeze his shoulder. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, bro,” comes the equally quiet reply. “We’re gonna have another chance.”

Branch eyes sag heavily, the coming pain spreading and he’s grateful he’s too weak to stay awake. He allows the darkness to swirl around and he falls into it.

**Earlier. . .**

Maybe he isn’t coming.

Branch said he would come.

Unless, Hefty’s fooling himself into thinking Branch is even interested in being friends. Or maybe Hefty scared him off. It wouldn’t surprise him if that’s the case. The others always tell him he can come off strongly and aggressive. Goodness knows he’s tried so hard to be polite and patient, but whenever he wants something, he figures why not just charge for the gold?

It’s stupid to wait.

But this time, he probably should have exercised some restraint. The way Branch was looking at him when Hefty sucked his finger—Hefty’s cheeks color—the poor troll looked prepared to bolt for his life. It’s not like Hefty meant any harm. He was just trying to help. It’s what he does; protect, care and save. He’s the strongest one in the village and the self-proclaimed protector for the injured and helpless and weak.

Every Smurf knows it.

Hefty pauses in his excessive pacing and sighs.

That doesn’t mean Branch knows it.

So . . . so, maybe he won’t come back. The thought of it being affirmed sends a strange, disturbing lump in Hefty’s chest. He only remembers feeling something like that whenever he can’t finish a workout or when one of his friends declines an offer to join him on a jog.

Yeah, that’s definitely disappointment, except this time, it’s a tad more intense.  

Hefty spins on his next rotation around a crackling fire, then kicks his foot in the grass. This really sucks. He sighs, reaching into his hat for a Smurfberry and shoves it in his mouth. Well, if it’s going to be like this, then he could just head home. He came out here to do what he wanted and he found out who the singer is.

Too bad he won’t get the opportunity of hearing Branch sing up close. That blue firecracker could probably seduce an egg from a bird.

Casting one last longing, hopeful glance at the narrow, worn path for a long while, Hefty heaves a depressed sigh and starts his trek towards his tree.

“Stupid. So stupid. You really are a big blue dummy, Heft-Man.” Hefty berates himself with a swift pop to his noggin and takes to climbing up the tree. Next time, if there ever is a next time, he’ll practice not being so overbearing.

Sharp screaming devours the entire forest, startling insects, birds and even Hefty out of the tree. He falls on his feet, checking all around him in a frenzy. What was that scream? Where had it come from? He couldn’t find its origin at all. Too many sounds were going off at once.

“Branch! Branch help me!”

 _‘Branch?’_ Hefty moves, eyes wide and searching. He’s out here? But where? Why? Who needs help? What’s going on?

“Hello?” he calls out. No reply. “Who’s out there? Branch? Bro!”

There’s the screaming again. There’s less nature to drown it out and he pinpoints it from his right.

“OK, OK, OK, let’s do this!” Hefty takes several steps back, then charges forward, building up extra momentum, lowering his head. He comes to an incline, racing up it and caroms off the top, eating up a large stretch of land below. His hand catches on a low hanging branch and he whips himself on it, looking high and all over with his hand hovering over his eyes to expand his vision.

It’s too dark to make out anything. The illuminous plants weren’t much help. Everywhere he looks, there looks to be movement, but he can’t tell what it is.

However, the ferocious growl to come is one he’s heard in his nightmares and he would know it in the middle of a dark room with zero light and guidance. It was bestial, low and dangerous.

Sickeningly, Hefty’s heart lurches from his chest to his throat when he hears Branch loudly taunt the beast.

“Hey, hey, hey, over here, come get me!”

“Branch—that idiot!” He’s going to get himself killed. Thank Mother Nature Hefty knows where to go now. Branch’s voice rings clear as crystal going east and the muscled Smurf shoots off in that direction.

There’s no telling what Azrael is doing in the Forbidden Forest. This late in the evening, Hefty doubts Gargamel is with him, but that doesn’t provide much comfort. The stupid cat is probably out on the prowl looking for an easy meal and no doubt he thinks he’s found it in Branch and maybe Branch’s friend.

But that dumb cat won’t be snacking on trolls today. Not if Hefty has anything to do about it.

Hefty darts out into a congested huddle of tangled trees and underbrush, looking all over. “Branch? Hey, where are you?” he hollers.

There’s a whimper and sobs. Hefty’s blue eyes fish the area until he notices a stalk of bright pink sinking back under a bunch of braided roots and grass shoots. He hurries over, roughly pulling the roots apart and leans his head inside.

There, tucked tight and shivering in the furthest part of the crevice is a smaller, pinker version of Branch. A girl maybe? As bright pink as it is, he certainly hopes so.

Her eyes are enormous, wet and frightened. Besides her clothing being torn and bruising, she doesn’t look too hurt.

“Don’t be scared,” he tries for a soft, gentle approach, extending out his hand. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

She cowers further into the hiding place, curling her arms around herself. “Please don’t. . .” she brokenly weeps.

“It’s OK, sweetie, really.” Hefty finishes snatching the thick root out of the way and makes his way inside. “I promise I mean you no harm. I want to help.”

It doesn’t matter much to her. Hefty doesn’t blame her hesitation. Azrael has her spooked senseless. He nods in understanding and steps back. “Alright, it’s cool. I’ll leave you alone.” He turns his head to regard their surroundings. “Where’s Branch?”

“W-what?”

He resists the urge to get frustrated and patiently repeats, “Where is Branch?”

The feminine troll sniffles, then audibly gasps. “Oh God, that horrid thing. He was fighting it. And-and I didn’t see what happened. I got scared and covered my eyes. Where is he? Did it get him? Branch? Branch!” she screams.

“Easy, easy, it’s alright. We’ll find him.”

Unfortunately, Hefty became worried. There’s no sign of that despicable cat nor Branch. He steps into the opening and studies the ground and broken up bits of grass for clues. He kneels, grazing fingers where signs of a struggle and scratching took place. Hefty plucks and sniffs strands of orange fur and a loose string of black hair lie intertwined.

A wet, wrenching sound of dislocated bones sounds not far from them both, followed by a three-chord shout of agony. The girl troll goes nearly green with nausea, wobbling. “It got him!” she cries.

 _‘Like Hell.’_ Hefty shoots to his feet, racing like lightning were tagging his tail. “Stay there!” he orders, stretching his stride and taking a mighty leap.  

“Get back!” comes the stupidly brave warning, that’ll go unheeded.

Hefty launches himself the fastest he’s ever gone in his life, ricocheting from one place to the next until he comes through a pair of trees and upon a heart stopping sight.

His blood runs cold. Mind blank, eyes empty of everything except for Azrael’s maws wrapped like a vice on Branch’s arm, and the view of that same intensely hued blood was plentifully leaking down his appendage.

Hefty only reacts. He wants the cat in pain, he wants it riveting in agony. The rage is so rich in his mind, he’s moving before his brain can process what’s to come.

Hefty’s feet leave the ground as he hurls himself like a boulder thrown by a trebuchet straight into the cat’s backside. A loud crow echoes forth and those golden eyes briefly catch on Hefty as he leaps, dropping his head like a battering ram and slams it powerfully into the back of the cat’s skull.

The cat’s body collides against a nearby tree, wrapping its front legs over its head in confused agony and abandoning its focus on Branch.

Hefty has a split second to jump and catch Branch in midair. He twists them around so his back connects with the blunt side of the tree and takes the rough ride down until his feet plant firm to the earth.

The Smurf shudders, his arms carefully holding to the troll’s body like the slightest motion will shatter him completely. Azrael got the poor guy good. He’s bleeding from his head, and cheek. Branch’s arm looks the worse. He’ll need some medical attention and soon. By Mother Nature, if Branch’s health weren’t so dire, Hefty would put every ounce of his strength into snapping the cat in two. Not that the thought isn’t still at the forefront of his mind.

A nuzzle and gentle pressure lands firmly against Hefty’s chest. Branch’s eyes flutter dizzily as he gazes up, sightless, and feeling so light. “Sup, Blue,” he whispers. “S’rry m’ late. Kinda got tied. . . tied up.”

Hefty bites his lip, pressing his hand tighter around Branch’s shoulder. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, bro,” comes the equally quiet reply. “We’re gonna have another chance.”

Branch smirks, going unconscious. It’s for the best.

The cat, however, doesn’t know when to learn from his first mistakes. Hefty hears Azrael’s weight crunching leaves and flattening grass. He lifts hardened, darkening eyes in its direction, stopping the feline dead in his tracks.

“Azrael,” Hefty starts, voice low and edged with a barely contained rage, “you’ve got five seconds to get lost or get skinned. Make a choice.”  

The cat utters a short hiss, then thinks better of stalking any closer when Hefty takes an equally bold step forward. Memories from their previous encounters work their way into the cat’s brain. This is the strong one. The meal is hardly worth the trouble. The hairs on the orange cat’s back rise in a menacing manner and it sharply meows at losing his prey, then springs into the woods, disappearing out of view.

Only when Hefty’s certain the cat is gone does he make his back to the young female troll’s hiding place.  

She sniffles, crawling out into the open. “Oh my God, Branch!” Fear of the cat and of Hefty immediately disappear from the pink troll when she sees Branch’s condition. She trots over with an obvious limp to his side, petting his hair and wiping the blood away with her hand. “Is he. . .?”

“Don’t start thinkin’ negative thoughts, little lady. Branch’s too tough ta’ let some rotten ole cat finish him off.”

“Ca-at?”

Hefty blinks. Well then. “Never mind. Come on.”

She shyly nods, eyes training on the unconscious troll.  “I’m so sorry, Branch. This is all my fault. I wish I hadn’t followed him, but I was so worried.”

Branch’s injured arm is wedged between his side and Hefty’s chest. If she got a gander of how bad off it was, she’ll probably raise a bigger fuss. The Smurf thinks better of laying Branch on the ground. He nods for the female troll to follow him.

He regards her with a critical gaze. “Do you know where you are?”

His deep voice startles her out of her sad stare at Branch, wiping at the tears leaking down her dirtied cheeks. “Nuh-uh. I have no idea how to get back to my village from here.”

That’s just terrific. Hefty shakes his head. Now he has two souls to look out for. This night just keeps getting better and better. With no way of getting back to their own village, there’s little choice. Hefty carefully hikes Branch up in his arms. They’ll have to go back to his home.

“Come on,” he says to the pink troll. “You’re coming with me.”

She fidgets nervously. “But—”

“I know you’re scared,” he tries for a soft, less bluntness in his tone and offers a peaceful smile, “but I promise you'll be safe. You can trust me. I may look intimidating, but these muscles protect the good. And,” he unknowingly hugs Branch under his chin, “our friend here is in some dire need of help. His care takes priority, don’t you think?”

She timidly nods, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it, ma'am.”

Hefty leads the way to his shelter, mind full of so many thoughts. Branch, now Branch’s friend, and bringing two strangers to his village. His well-hidden, secret village.

Oh boy, will he be getting an earful when he gets back. He’ll have to deal with Smurfette’s worrying, Brainy’s smart aleck badgering, Clumsy’s questions, the rest of the village’s curiosity and above all else, Papa’s infamous lecture Hefty is guaranteed to have.

But he’ll suffer through it all. Gazing down at a slumbering Branch, Hefty doesn’t think much longer on his decision. He’s going home for the troll’s sake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Hides behind bushes*


	4. Cyan Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eh, some humor and tenderness between Hefty and Branch anddd, a little peek at another blooming friendship or relationship(?) towards the end. I apologize for any mistakes and errors. Please excuse them and enjoy the story!

**Cyan Blue**

 

You guys have to check out this dazzling artwork by Tealbull81. [Gorgeous: Chapter 3 scene of Hefty cradling Branch's battered body](https://tealbull81.tumblr.com/post/168525271120/fanart-for-phoenixdiamonds-madamphoenixdiamond)

 

Hefty’s familiar with this part of the forest. The journey this far took longer than necessary, but it can’t be helped. When he’d first taken this trip, he’d only had himself to tend to. Now he has the responsibility of looking after an unconscious Branch and his unspeaking comrade.

She hasn’t spoken, but a handful of words. Too much of her rapture was focused on ensuring Hefty didn’t try anything funny with Branch and even if he has ill-intentions, he can tell through the tremoring in her fingers, the soft quivers in her shoulders whenever Hefty looks at her, that even if she was powerless to stop him, she would try her best to protect Branch. His respect for her only increased from there. Someone willing to lay their life down for a friend is always A-OK in his book.

They were within his village’s perimeter, where the veil spirals over and blankets anything that shows evidences of Smurf life. He won’t go much further than meters far; close enough to reach them in case there’s danger, but far enough away so that the two aren’t accosted by the other Smurfs.

Hefty carts the pink troll on his back, after some careful coaxing and promises of no funny business of course. She doesn’t trust him. Not entirely. He respects that too. But he’s going to really need her cooperation for what he needs to do next.

Up here, in one of the highest valley oaks, Hefty climbs it in large, leaping bounds, one hand looped around Branch and the other tightly hooked under the young pink one’s legs so she doesn’t fall. This tree is used for emergency escapades, storing rations and for sentry duties. There’s plenty of edible herbs and medicinal, raw mushrooms and roots to utilize. Despite being close to home, Hefty doesn’t want to journey further without giving Branch the first aid treatment he’s in dire need of.

The tree’s core holds a cavity deeply embedded where all the large branches converge and sprout. It’s a hollowed out base, semi closed off from sight and dry. No rain can get, no predators can find it. They enter it, ducking beneath the jutted, curved wooden ledge serving as an overflow to collect rainwater. Nobody’s been inside it recently from the looks of it.

It doesn’t hold a whole lot of furnishing provisions. Just a futon suited for one and a hammock hooked to nails tucked in the corner. Handy Smurf took it upon himself to spruce up the place with some other stuff like a small chester drawer and lamp stand glow lights. A sealed wooden crate by the only window is half full of Smurf berries and next to it are burlap bags full of the mushrooms and herbs. But it’s none of those he needs now.

Hefty gently lays Branch on the futon and lowers the pink troll to the floor. She quickly moves to sit on the futon’s edge, huddling close to Branch’s side. He tries to reassure her with a smile. A tiny one is returned.

A soft, pained moan emits from the unconscious teal blue troll, churning Hefty’s insides into a frothy mess. He goes to fumble through a mahogany chest near the water supply, groaning resentfully to whoever the last Smurf was to occupy the domicile. How many times has he had to tell everyone to keep the sentry spots organized?  For Smurf’s sake, where is it? He knows the last time he’d been here the first aid kit was in this chest. He had left it full of gauze and ointment, smashed and chewed herbs— “Yes!” Found it.

Grabbing the white handled metal box that Brainy and Papa Smurf helped teach him to keep stocked, Hefty goes to the futon and kneels next to it, checking Branch’s pulse, carefully pressing and probing his fingers over every inch of his limbs with the gentleness of a merchant handling a glass figurine, searching for broken bones, other lacerations and wounds. Hefty signs. He’s going to have to get invasive. There’s some of bleeding coming from Branch’s backside. He can’t get to it with his clothes on.

He swallows, peering closely at the pink troll with her gaze fixed worriedly on Branch’s face. “Ma’am?”

She looks at him.

Hefty licks his lips, looking away. There’s no way he can hide the purpling in his cheeks. “I’m gonna have to, uh,” he rubs behind his neck, “I need to take his clothes off. So, I dunno how you guys handle nudity or if you won’t be comfortable seein’ me see him naked and all.” He looks at her fully and his voice becomes firm. “But it’s gotta be done to prevent him catchin’ an infection. You understand?”

The pink troll nods and shudders a little, smoothing her hand over Branch’s hair. “Do what you have to,” she murmurs.

“I’ll do my best, Miss.”

“It’s Poppy.”

“Huh?”

“My name,” the pink troll sniffles. “I’m Poppy.”

“Oh, well, nice to meet you.” These trolls and their wacky names. Naming their children after seeds and tree arms.

Hefty inclines his torso towards the medical case pulling out all the needed gear. He stands to lift Branch into a semi-sitting position to ease off his vest. The Smurf grimaces at the long, drawn out groan Branch whimpers when his arm disturbed from its stiff angle

“Sorry, bro,” Hefty whispers, unsure if the teal blue troll can hear him, but it helps to say something anyway. “I’ll be as gentle as I can.” The vest is tossed to the side. Hefty isn’t sure it can be salvaged.

He stills himself a moment. Deep, grooved marks, a pair of elongated marks and two small, freshly tear open on Branch’s back. Hefty isn’t sure he catches a glimpse of pink flesh beneath the once unblemished teal skin or if it’s just another interchanging shade of the troll’s unique blood. A fury like a struck match kindles in Hefty’s core and he has to draw in a long breath, in and out, until he can look at the teal troll in his arms, and simply breathe. So help Hefty, if he ever lays eyes on Azrael again, that cat will wish it had never been born.

Then he wrangles his temper under control. It wouldn’t do to administer aid under with tension taunting his muscles. A loose limb enables fluency and dexterity he’ll need to stitch these wounds. And he doesn’t have a single drop of sleep root. Hefty shakes his head. He’ll have to do this and hope Branch doesn’t wake up.

Using a world’s worth of tender care, Hefty employs careful measuring to how he lays Branch on his stomach, keeping his wounded arm towards him and goes to sleep the troll’s patched britches off. Hefty respectfully avoids staring at any of Branch’s private areas in place of using a clean wash cloth doused in saline to wipe over his body.  Wiping away all the dirt and dried blood took some time. There was so much of covering Branch’s body and Hefty wants to kick his own tail for not having done this sooner. Yet, it appears that much of it is from fewer wounds then Hefty assumed. Only Branch’s arm, back and crown possessed the real damage.

When he edges close to gently sponge at Branch’s mouth, the troll stirs, face scrunching hard and eyes squeezing until they spring open, frantic and panicky, darting in every direction. He was trembling, the look of fear as wild as boiling water. Then they land on Hefty, trained specifically on his face for long, petrified seconds as if unable to recognize his savior. But dawning registers like sunshine on winter snow as Branch scrutinizes Hefty’s face for a while, eyelids narrowing slightly, their bruised flesh cloaks above bloodshot, weary sky-blue irises. The Smurf’s heart pounded fast enough to dry out his tongue.

“Hefty,” is the whispered confirmation.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Hefty takes Branch’s hand without thinking and squeezes the shorter fingers, smiling down at him. “How ya feelin’, bro?”

“Like I got a bunch’cha holes in me.” Branch slurs and flinches when he shifts. “Everything hurts.”

Little does he know it’s about to get worse. Hefty chuckles at him. “You got mauled by a cat, you’re gonna be tender for a while.”

“A wahhh?”

Hefty shakes his head, eyes speculative. “Nevermind.” The Smurf shifts uncomfortably on his knees and looks away, but doesn’t miss the troll’s small pant. “You’re not quite outta the woods yet, Bro. Azrael messed ya up good.”

“No kidding,” comes Branch’s huff of derision. “I feel pretty good leaking all over your furniture. S’ part of my sadistic thrill.”

At least his sarcasm isn’t too damaged. He reaches down to retrieve circular cotton pads soaked in a lemon balm and lavender ointment. Hefty rises to his feet to hover above Branch. Looking down at him this high up, where the troll’s eyes were honed on him like a cornered kitten, Hefty realizes he feels incredibly nervous.

“I gotta smooth this stuff over your back,” he explains quietly, hand poise above the first cut, not quite daring to touch him yet. “It’s gonna sting.”

The Smurf half-expects the troll to reconsider leaving his care to Hefty, as though hearing what’s to come broke the spell of trust. But he doesn’t. Branch merely lays his face on the pillow, expressionless and looks up at him, lips pressed in a braced line.

Clearing his throat slightly, Hefty tries to keep his eyes vivid with concentration, barely breathing as he lays the washcloth on the first laceration. The coming sharp hiss and bodily arch almost causes Hefty to retract his hand, but he maintains a determined mindset to complete the task at hand.

But it’s a vexing process. Knowing he’s the reason behind why Branch is fighting to keep the strangled sounds of pain in the back of his throat, rendered Hefty into feeling like a villain. Over and over the Smurf applies pressure to leak the medicine into the wounds and absorb some of the blood loosened through the crevices. When Hefty finishes patting down Branch’s arm, the troll’s become breathless with agony, back rising and falling from having to gasp in short, irregular intervals.

Hefty’s curled hands were shaking, eyes shamefully blurring. “I’m sorry. I had to do it.” He rubs his wrist under his nose, wrestling with his emotions because son of Smurf he despises causing pain to the innocent. He wants to punch a hole or kick down a whole tree or fight off a pack of wolves. Angry with his weakness, his absolute ineptitude on display for them to witness, Hefty straightens and makes to turn around until he’s gathered himself to some semblance of control.  

“I’m OK,” Branch says hoarsely, turning his face so it isn’t shoved flat into the mattress the way it had been while he was nursed and rests his cheek on the softness. “Hefty?” With a hand wavering dreadfully aloft, he reaches for him.

Hefty turns in time to catch the hand before it falls and cradles the smaller, shorter fingers in his larger ones. “I’m so sorry this happened to you,” he says.

“S’ not your fault, dummy.”

“If I hadn’t asked you to come back—”

Branch closes and opens his eyes slowly. “I wanted to see you.”

They fell into a heavy silence, with no reply forthcoming from the Smurf. He works his mouth open, then clamps it shut. Words failed him. What more could he say to that? There’s a thousand things he could say, but every single one remained locked in his throat with a padlock of confusion and clogged joy.

The tugging in his palms gets him to let go. Hefty does and his nose is flicked by that same teal hand. Branch smirks sneakily and chuckles at Hefty crossing his eyes and he rubs his nose.

“Jerk,” he grumbles playfully.

Branch shuts his eyes, voice losing out to exhaustion. “Do what ya gotta do, Blue. . . I . . . trust you.”

Hefty’s chest seizes. “N-no problem, lil bro.” He reaches around for the first aid kit, thankful for Branch falling asleep so he can get down to the rest tough work. “I got’cha covered.”

The whole while, Hefty had forgotten the pink troll was even in the room. But she was fine to be left in the backdrop, so she can play witness to something extraordinary unfolding before her. She smiles sweetly and keeps her distancing so the stranger, Hefty, can finish catering to Branch’s injuries.

“Thank you,” she mumbles, unbeknownst to Hefty, ambiguously.

Hefty’s ear twitches to her gratitude and gives her a quick, light grin. “No problem, ma’am. Anything for a friend.” _‘Holy Smurf, I forgot she was there. She probably thinks I’m crazy weird now.’_ Judging by her knowing smile, maybe not crazy weird.

The sudden rambunctious outburst from the villagers summons Smurfette out of her mushroom in a flash.

Her heart was racing in time with her feet, not knowing what she would find, not caring, just hoping, praying, that it was just another harmless misadventure that Hefty comes back from and preferably with the usual scars to depict his journey.

Many of the Smurfs were hustling towards the Rehearsal Theatre, a few raced in the opposite direction towards Papa Smurf’s mushroom to tell him what’s happened. A hand touches her arm, making her head spin since every other part of her was busy sprinting through the crowd.

Clumsy tosses a thumb up as he files in behind her and together they manage to get as close as they can to see Hefty standing aboard the theatre’s massive platform, impatiently pacing back and forth. She feels her chest tighten. That reckless idiot. That dumb, stupid, silly, nincompoop. Here she’d been beside herself with destructive worry, pulling at her hair, missing meals and fussing over the smallest things just to discover that Hefty is as fine and muscular as hefty as he’d been since the day he left home.

“You idiot!” Smurfette cries over the crowd of conversation and muttering confusion. Her angry outcry only serves to heighten the delirium. She hurries up stairwell leading to the stage and shoves herself into Hefty’s arms.

They’d have toppled over if he hadn’t braced his feet and held her to swing around.  His other arm is soon grabbed and pulled to loop around Clumsy and he’s suddenly got his arms full of two of his closest friends. He hugs them close and smells their necks, never realizing how much he missed them during the days he was away. There’s nothing like family.

“Hefty ‘Meat Head’ Smurf!” comes the third and final hoity tot declaration from the center of town and from the cause of it, walking cool and stiff towards the front. The bespectacled Smurf calmly makes his way upon the stage, favorite Scout Manuel clasped tight in his hands. He lefts one hand to push up his spectacles, glaring through the lens. “You know, the next time you want to go gallivanting off into the unknown,” he sucks in and roars, “A FREAKING WARNING WOULD BE APPRECIATED!”

The three Smurfs cover their ears, blinking owlishly at their friend.

“You had us worried sick, you know that?” snaps Brainy. “I had to hold down the fort for you because Smurfette’s a lump of lethargy and Clumsy is twice as accident-prone when you’re not around.”

“And Brainy was more persnickety than usual,” gripes Clumsy.

The trio glance at him, surprised.

“What?” Clumsy blinks. “I know big words too.”

Hefty chuckles. “Sorry Nerdy Bro. Really, I didn’t mean to worry ya.”

“Worried? Who was worried?” Brainy turns away from him, folding his arms. “Certainly not me. What did I care that you could’ve gotten hurt and you were out there all alone without the slightest bit of knowledge in recognizing what kind of plant and root applications to exploit in case you contracted an infection or ingested foreign poisoned—”

Hefty sweeps Brainy into a suffocating hug, wring him from side to side, ignoring his demand to be put down.

Eventually he does, but only in favor of noticing the villager’s silence when Papa Smurf too joins the foursome on stage, gauging them each in turn, but lingering longest on Hefty with indignant disapproval. He stops short of standing in Hefty’s personal space and folds his arms, patiently tapping his foot.

“I just can’t seem to grasp how thick that head of yours is, Hefty Smurf,” Papa Smurf starts, and Hefty visibly winches at the use of his whole name. “I tell you time and time again that entering the Forbidden Forest’s domain is prohibited. I don’t say these things to prevent you all from enjoying yourselves. I say it to protect you from danger. We don’t blend in all that well. There’s nothing more you can need outside the veil. So kindly tell me what possessed you to behave to smurfing foolishly? And by my Smurfing beard it had better be a darn good reason.”

Hefty had slinked back, wringing his hands nervously throughout the lecture, and chewed his bottom lip. “Before I explain Papa, I need your help with something.” When Papa Smurf lifts an eyebrow indicating for Hefty to continue, he does, “I found some, um, creatures while in the forest. One of them got mauled real bad by Azrael.”

“Azrael!” Papa Smurf balks. “You ran into that demon cat?”

The villagers become frantic and fearful, clamoring amongst themselves in huddles.

“Yeah, he was hunting in the woods when,” Hefty pauses, thinks, “a friend of mine crossed paths with him. He’s hurt something awful, Papa. I need you to heal him.”

Papa Smurf sighs, looking to the sky. “Hefty—”

“We don’t have to bring them to the village, but he really needs the help.” Hefty crouches to his knees and bows, uttering in a distressed rush, “Please Papa, punish me for a year of Blue Moons, I don’t care. Confine me to my mushroom for the rest of my life, whatever. Just please, please, help him before he gets sick.”

A hushed insistent series of voices cycle among the villagers, eyes changing from Hefty’s surprising submission to Papa Smurf’s reluctance to comply. He maintains his silence for several agonizing seconds more, weighing the matter over while Hefty repeatedly presses his forehead into the wood. At last, the Smurf leader lays a hand over Hefty’s head and gestures for him to rise.

“You’ve always had a good heart, Hefty and a grand eye for seeing the good in someone.” Papa Smurf presses a hand over the strong Smurf’s chest where his heart thrummed with excitement. Papa looks to the rest of his young Smurfs and points out who he needs for what assignment. “Hefty, take Smurfette with you to help bring your friend to the Recovery Mushroom. Brainy retrieve my satchel. Brew up the Vitalizing Draught with a pinch of powdered goldenrod and jellied marigold dipped in moon rain. There should be some under the cabinet next to the Tessler Beats. Clumsy, you and Vanity go collect as much smurfroot and lavender petals. The rest of the you clean up this town. We have guests to welcome. Let’s get a move on!”

Organized chaos commences. Hefty looks on with a toothy smile as everyone bustles to do Papa Smurf’s bidding. He looks to the elder Smurf and brings him in firm embrace. “Thank you, Papa.”

Papa Smurf returns the hug just as tightly. “Thank me after your friend’s recover, my young Smurf. Now go on. We’re wasting time.”

“Roger that. Come on Smurfette!” With a two-fingered salute, Hefty charges through the crowd with Smurfette close on his heels.

Joy and anticipating swell in the soles of his feel like crushing waves to a beach. An unexplainable happiness crackles like fireworks. So many careening emotions relating to happiness spread inside Hefty and he knows it’s because he can finally make sure Branch will be OK. And better still, he can introduce Branch to his way of life; show him around, introduce him to all his friends and family. The potential fun to be hand with his new friend has Hefty shooting off, ricocheting off trees and boulders whooping aloud and cheering. He’s just so gosh darn happy!

“Hefty, slow down!” Laughs Smurfette, scarcely able to match his leaping stride. “We’ll get there soon enough!”

“I can’t help it, Smurfette!” He hollers back. “It feels like I got all of this happiness bottled inside me and I’m dying to get it out!”

Smurfette laughs again. “This friend of yours must be special.”

“He is. Just wait until you meet him and his friend. They’ll blow your mind!”

They arrive to the sentry north point. Hefty latches onto the tree bark and starts scaling his way up. Smurfette jumps on his back and that’s only because she doesn’t want any snags to catch on her dress. It’s her favorite one.

As they drew nearer, muffled voices can be heard. Or rather, some mixed tones where a feminine voice can be heard badgering the masculine one.

“Poppy, would you knock it off?”

“I’ll let go when you stop scratching at your arm!”

“It freakin’ itches!”

“That’s because you keep messing with it. Hefty worked so hard to clean it too. You’re making it worse.”

“No, I’m not!”

“See, not you’re bleeding again. Ugh, Branch what am I going to do with you?”

Hefty lands at the entrance. He beckons Smurfette to stay behind him and politely knocks to interrupt the bickering. “Sup, guys. Glad you’re dressed Branch.” He steps in further, spreading his arms as if to present some flaring gift. “Great news, I got permission to take you back to my village. Papa Smurf agreed to heal you, so you’ll be back to your old grouchy self in no time.”

The pink troll bounds off the bed, stamping her foot. “Branch was scratching at his bandages while you were gone!” she tattles, pointing an accusing finger. “I told him to stop, but look at what’s done. He ruined all of your hard work.”

“Relax Poppy, it’s all good,” muses Hefty, patting her shoulder and shooting a dirty glare at Branch. “As for you, I told you before I left not to bother your injuries. Look at you. Geez, Branch it’s like taking care of a baby!”

“Shut up!” Branch snaps, folding his arms in a huff. “These stupid wraps hurt. You put them on too tight. Look at my arm. See?” He holds it up. “There’s no circulation feeding into it. It’s deadweight!”

Hefty sighs. “You’re supposed to apply pressure to a bleeding wound.”

“Not to the point of turning my arm as blue as you!”

Poppy giggles behind her wagging her torso back and forth like a guilty child as she listened to the mischievous fight she started. But only because it was so cute to see Hefty fuss so adamantly over Branch’s care. It’s about time someone other than herself took the initiative.

When Hefty motions for Branch to try standing, he empties the entrance of his hulking size and all that remains is. . . another Smurf? Poppy’s hands fly up to her face in surprise and she quickly darts to the futon to smack Hefty across the noggin.

“Yeah, what? Oh.” Hefty rubs behind his head sheepishly. “Sorry, I meant to introduce you. Branch, Poppy, this is my best friend, Smurfette. Smurfette, meet the trolls.”

The one called Smurfette steps deeper inside, making the hem of white dress swish. She wore it almost full length, without sleeves, revealing dainty sapphire blue shoulders. The dress glittered with gilding silver stitching and hundreds of sparkles whenever the sunlight grazed it. The hue of her expressive oceanic eyes is enhanced by her burning blue complexion. And that hair, it doesn’t tower and blend into a shape like a troll’s. It laid in luxurious blonde cascades reaching full down her back.  

Smurfette bends her fingers in a light wave, head tilted, smiling with great wonder at the colorful beings. “Hi there.”

“Uh, hi.” Poppy offers meekly, easing a little away from Hefty’s side, who was giving her a very peculiar expression. “I’m Poppy.”

“Like the flower?” Smurfette happily questions.

Poppy’s cheeks color. “Yep, like the flower.”

“I love your name.”

More warmth enters her face. Poppy touches a hand to her face, vaguely wondering if it’s about to melt off. What on earth is wrong with her. “Thank you. I love your dress.”

“I love yours more.”

Poppy shrugs and answers lightly. “It doesn’t look as good as it should. All tattered and ripped like it is.”

“Tailor Smurf could fix that up if you like.”

Poppy straightens her spine to a ramrod angle when the feminine Smurf comes up to her and stares right in her face, and the heat from her body heat is practically scorching Poppy’s face. “Gosh, you’re beautiful.”

She suddenly brings both her hands to her cheeks and squeals. “Don’t stare at me like that!”

“Sorry, I’m so sorry!” Smurfette says. “I didn’t mean to. I’m not used to meeting guests. I’ve been sheltered in the village for so long—”

“No, no, it’s OK. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to overreact like that. . .”

“No, really it’s my fault for getting in your face.”

Hefty looks between them.

So, does Branch.

“What in the name of creation is going on here,” Branch whispers to the muscular Smurf.

“No clue. Kinda trying to figure it out myself.” He shrugs. “We should get going.” Easily, Hefty lifts Branch in his arms.

 “Dude, no. Put me down!” Branch demands automatically, the snap in his voice dulled by surprise and aches. He smacks at Hefty’s back half-heartedly. “I am not about to let you carry me!”

Hefty smiles indulgently. “I’ll let you walk around as much as you want after Papa Smurf fixes you up.”

“I can walk, Hefty!”

“Well, well, well, so you do know my name?”

Branch blushes and tightly folds his arms looking every bit like a scorned baby. Hefty pokes his bottom lip and dips his head back to dodge the troll aimlessly swatting at his head.

“Smurfette, help Poppy down will ya? I’ve clearly got my hands full.”

“If you’d put me down!” Branch fusses.

Hefty laughs. “Not a chance.” He steps out the door, and over the ledge without warning, cackling diabolically at Branch’s high-pitched scream as they fell. It nearly reaches baby bird octaves.

Branch’s arms wrapped like tentacles around Hefty’s neck and when they hit bottom, he promptly pinches the Smurf’s nose until he turns a shade darker than blue.

“You big blue doof! Have a care for my blood pressure!”

“I wasn’t gonna let you get hurt, and quick squirmin’ before I drop you!”

Meanwhile, Smurfette hangs by the entrance, amused. “Well, guess we should get going too.” She braces a hand on the woodsy frame and looks behind her, fixing Poppy with a steady, friendly expression. “Come on, it’s safe.”

Poppy’s mouth twists to the side, a bit perturbed. “I can get myself down.”

“Oh, OK.” Smurfette dampens a little. “I wasn’t trying to imply—”

A dazzling, sweet laugh stuns Smurfette silent as the pink troll walks over and pats her on the arm. “Smurfette’s your name, right? Well, Smurfette, first rule of getting to know each other, we’re going have to stop apologizing so much.”

“You. . .” Smurfette looks at the soft, slightly fuzzed hand pressing into her appendage. “You really want to get to know me?”

“Of course. You look pretty cool. Come on!” Without warning, the pink troll sails over the edge and Smurfette’s eyes bulge out when Poppy’s hair stretches to a branch and she’s swinging her way down to the earth.

Smurfette drops her forehead into her palm for a moment, feeling tortured. “What is going on with me?” she sharply scolds herself. “Get it together, girl.” Then she takes a dive over as well to join the trio on their trek into the village.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for more!


	5. Steel Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christmas is over and it's time to get back to writing everybody! Please excuse any mistakes and thanks so much for reading. I do appreciate every single one of you. Enjoy reading!

 

**[Naughty, cute, graphic art of Branch and Hefty by Kate669.](http://madamphoenixdiamond.tumblr.com/image/168534702260) (Must be 18 or older to peek at this lol. It's so adorable!)**

**[A Tie of Two Worlds by Aquietwriter25](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13120053/chapters/30015021) (I nearly cried upon her telling me about this. It's another Hefty x Branch story guys! Blueshipping is a thing now. She updates faster then me and it's soooo super sweet. You should totally give it a look!) **

**Steel Blue**

 

 

After minutes of bickering and Branch purposely being difficult to handle, Hefty works in between the grouching and complaining, that the possibility of Branch feeling uncomfortable during their trek through his village is going to be super high.

Branch needn’t ask why. As soon as they were in view of the massive triangular domes, crowds of many Hefty-lookalikes were assembling in throes at the outer border, openly gaping at him and Poppy. It feels more like the attention is on him and that can easily be because Hefty is casually parading Branch in his arms like such a sight is as rare as a two-headed jelly viper.

Branch tries several times to envision a time where he’s felt his stomach flipflop so vigorously. He can’t pinpoint a single time. Their staring is unsettling. The fact that every single one of them looked like Hefty is especially unsettling. Everybody’s the same shade of blue with minimum differences. They all wear identical white wooly conical caps and white footsie pants.

Branch figures at some point, if he really wants to put in the effort for it, he could figure out the characteristics that helps tell the Smurfs apart. But right now, he feels dizzy from spinning and turning to see the same face studying him so closely. And there’s even more of them suddenly appearing; peering through the windows of those strange looking mushroom houses. A handful were standing on the rooves, ‘ _ohhs_ ’, ‘ _ahhs_ ’ and stunned gasps—no, he’s wrong. The ones who made the gasps were sticking their heads out from behind the enormous mushrooms.

Those are the ones who draw the last straw in Branch’s patience. He glances at them and stares hard until his glare makes them wilt back into hiding. There’s no way these guys get enough visitors. Why else would they swarm the village like hungry humbugs?

Suddenly his patience becomes a short fuse, his fists clench like bombs and he swirls his head around to the whole lot of them to shout, “Don’t you bug eyed things have anything productive to do other than being in my face?!” He sinks into Hefty’s arms and pouts, effectively angering himself. “This is all your fault,” he huffs, cutting accusing daggers at his carrier. “I’m a grown troll being carted like a helpless baby.”

Hefty eyes him with as much irritation, “So, it’s all my fault I’m lookin’ out for your wellbeing? Fine, ya know what, I’ll take the blame for it. Feel better now?”

“No, because this is what’s called, _‘taking it to the extreme’_. I told you, I can walk on my own.”

“Nothing doing, lil bro.”

Branch goes quiet a few moments, then, “I can get away.”

“Don’t try anything funny,” Hefty warns just as coolly. “You mistake my complacency for a weakness. Don’t think I won’t snatch you back by that crazy hair of yours.”  

Branch lifts an eyebrow. He looks to the side, thinking, then twists his lips. Strips of his blue hair suddenly coil upright.

Hefty bats the summoned strands away. “Yeah, I think not. Don’t even try it.”

“I wasn’t gonna do anything.”

“Please, like you wouldn’t.”

“You’re a pain.”

“And you’re a real piece of work.”

Branch shakes his head, exasperated and leans his temple to slot in the junction between Hefty’s shoulder and jawline. If he’s going to be forced to be transported through the whole village like a sack of seeds, he may as well get cozy. Situated this way, it helps steer his mind away from being in this awkward position. At least he’s warm enough. More like a walking furnace.

In a swift change, Hefty’s body stiffens and relaxes. Then Hefty’s fingers curl a bit tighter under Branch’s knees and his upper shoulder.  Branch grimaces. Maybe he is making Hefty uncomfortable. He hadn’t thought about it until now how it might look with him snuggling so close.

Branch lifts his head, but his Hefty’s hand comes gentle as a feather on his face and presses him back down almost immediately.

“Ya good?” Hefty breathes against his temple.

Branch shrugs his uninjured shoulder. “Just tired of all the starin’.” He ticks his tongue. “In fact, I’m sick of it. When will it stop already?”

“Honestly?” Hefty pauses for effect and chuckles. “Probably not for a few days. You can’t blame them for staring. You and Poppy are nice to look at. There’s bound to be a few—admirers.”

Branch tilts his head at the pause, wondering what that was all about. But Hefty has his gaze trained straight ahead. Branch half-turns to inspect the direction, catching the oddity of this particular mushroom from the rest. Its crimson cap is enormous and lopsided, with a ballooning tip. The stem is a wide tan, bulging core piece with flaying skin.

Process of elimination complete. “That’s it?” asks Branch.

“Yep.”

Branch nods. “It doesn’t look overwhelmingly creepy at all.”

“Do me a favor before we go inside?”

Branch brings his head up fully to look in his face. Hefty blinks rapidly, then looks away.

“Lose the sarcasm.”

“Pfft, done.” Branch lowers himself in the big Smurf’s arms, folding his own. “I don’t plan on talkin’ anyway.”

Hefty’s smile becomes roguish, coaxing. “You can talk to me. You do that anyway.”

“Considering the circumstances at the given time,” Branch says moodily with another sharp shrug, “I didn’t have a choice. I thought you were a threat.” He looks at him suspiciously. “You still might be. I barely know you.”

Hefty goes silent, fingers drumming where they gripped the teal blue troll’s body. “Ya know I wouldn’t hurt you, right?” They pause outside this ‘Papa Smurf’ creature’s home, but he doesn’t knock.

Branch doesn’t look at him. His hands clenched around his elbows like steel bands.

“Hey,” Hefty’s tongue darts out to moisten his bottom lip uncertainly. He frees his less dominant hand to balance Branch in the other and uses it to curl a finger under the troll’s chin to turn his face at him. “Right?’

Branch keeps his eyes averted. “I dunno yet,” he replies gingerly. “Don’t take it the wrong way, alright? I’m still. . . a little uneasy with all of this. It’s a lot to take in all at once.”

“But, I thought, I mean. . .”

“You saved my life. Make no mistake, I’m grateful. If you hadn’t shown up when you had, who knows what would have happened to Poppy.”

Hefty frowns. “Not that I’m not relieved she’s alive, but what about you—”

Branch’s face takes on a hard expression. “Her life takes priority over mine. Always has, always will. I’ll lay my life down for her.”

“Branch—”

“Oh, for goodness sakes you two!” snaps Poppy from behind, shoving past. “Move, I’ll knock!”

Hefty blanches and quickly fetches her by the collar. “Poppy don’t op—”

Poppy’s hand is already gripping and turning the knob. The puff of blue and black smoke billows from slight jarring. Between juggling his arms full of trolls, and shoving Smurfette out of the way with his foot, Hefty is barely capable of snatching Poppy aloof and cradling Branch to his chest as the ear-splitting explosive pops the door off it’s hinges.

The window next to them slaps open. Soot and more smoke filter out in thick swirling plumes being frantically waved away by a dingy blue hand. Then a smutty face capers through the opening, hacking nasty coughs. “Pay no-no mind to the smoke, everyone. It’s all apart of procedure. All in the name of science!”

“Brainy, are you alright?” Smurfette rounds them to dust at her friend’s face and shoulders.

“Fine,” the one called Brainy hoarses, fanning away more of the smoke. “I’m fine. So is Papa. He just, uh, has to retrieve a shovel to haul all the grime out of here. And we’re going to need Handy to fix the hole in the wall. I had no idea Marigold dust and Butterfly lashes didn’t concoct well. I burned them in direct sunlight and boiled them in rainwater.”

Hefty takes a deep breath and exhales. “It’s supposed to be dew water, Brainy. Boiled in dew water, rinsed and diluted with rainwater.”

The bespectacled Smurf has the decency to look sheepish, rubbing behind his head. “Ah well, the more you know. Anyway, where are our patients? We’re ready to give them their treatment!”

Branch looks faintly sick for a moment. The Hefty look-alike with glasses flanks his face to smile at them, lens and all teeth smeared in black.

And that about sums up all the reasons why Branch won’t be going inside. He looks at Hefty dubiously. “You can take me back to the tree now.”

“Yeah.” Poppy takes a cautious step backwards and next to Branch, laughing nervously. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think we’ll take our chances staying hurt as we are.”

Brainy nips his bottom lip and eyes the pair of the strange creatures. It dawns on him like a cold wash of water why the pair would be hesitant.

“Oh that!” he laughs, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the smoke. “Don’t worry about that. I’m always destroying property. Exploding potions, daily convulsions, and whatever latest contraption I’ve cooked up backfiring, isn’t all that uncommon around here. Especially with me, but that doesn’t mean it’s not safe. Doctor Smurf isn’t here now, but I’m as qualified as they come.”

Hefty slaps a hand over his eyes and Branch’s uninjured hand is clutching around his bicep like a noose.

“If you like me even a little bit, you’ll get me and Poppy away from this maniac before something tragic happens,” Branch sharply whispers. “And I don’t mean to us!”

“Thankfully your threats are about as thick as a leaf,” grumbles Hefty, shooting Branch an equally sharp glare. “You’re goin’ in there. He’s not gonna be the one treating you anyway.”

“At this point, I don’t want anybody touching me!”

“Too bad.” Hefty’s other arm comes to loop like a cuff over Branch’s calves, keeps the other looped around he troll’s shoulders and squeezes. “Struggle.”

Branch does, managing a few loose squirms, but he doesn’t get free. If looks could annulate, Hefty would be six feet under fire and brimstone.     

Hefty smirks. “Told ya I’m stronger than I look.” He leads the way inside the lopsided mushroom as it clears of the dark haze.

Through the mist, and the slight suffocating burn entering their lungs, Branch squints his eyes to make out the shadowy outline of another figure in the back of the mushroom, moving this way and that with a broom. With a flick of his wrist, furniture turns upright, chairs right themselves and shattered books and papers collect into neat stacks. Branch blinks with enlarged eyes at the happening around him. He’s never seen objects move without hands or smoke dissolve without a breeze. But here is this strange figure, coming into view with a nicely groomed white beard, shirtless and colored blue with red clothing like Hefty.

“Alright, that should do it,” says the bearded Smurf. He turns around to face the newcomers with a wiry smile and nods kindly. “Welcome strangers, I apologize for the mess. My young Smurf here tends to get carried away with his studies.” He gestures towards a sheepish Brainy making his way from the window, using a washcloth to wipe over his face and arms.

“I’m called Papa Smurf,” he introduces and offers a hand towards the scowling teal blue creature. “What may we call you?”

Branch eyeballs the outstretched hand with plenty of attitude and scoffs, unresponsive.

Papa Smurf hums thoughtfully. “Hmm, not the friendly sort I take it?”

Branch glances away.

“He’s just gotta get used to us,” Hefty offers in his place. “Branch isn’t exactly trusting upfront. And, we haven’t really given him much reason to, given how everybody’s been crowdin’ these guys.”

“That’s fine. These things take time.” Papa Smurf tilts his head towards the fairer, brightly colored creature of the pair and gives his hand to it. “May I have your name?”

She looks worriedly at Hefty. At his encouraging nod, she takes his hand and takes a small curtesy. “I’m Poppy.”

Papa grasps her tiny hand and shakes it once. “Nice to meet you both. Here, Hefty bring Branch to the table. We can start on his treatment before his symptoms worsen.”

 Hefty’s fingers tensed upon feeling Branch go rigid all over. The Smurf reaches the table and stops, staring at it, then at Branch’s face and the unyielding rebellion. Hefty looks at Papa Smurf, who, along with Brainy, watches him with an odd expression as they wait for him to lay Branch out on the table.  

“Um.” Hefty chances transferring Branch on the table, but the troll stubbornly clings to him. Not that Hefty thinks he could let go anyway. He’s gotten so used to having Branch’s weight in his arms that losing it would leave an odd emptiness. Besides, the last time he’d let the troll go, he’d wound up getting tangled with a cat. So Hefty turns around and shifts to sit on the table with Branch still in his arms and situates the troll in his lap. “You’re gonna have to work on him like this,” he says stiffly, shifting his arms so that Papa and Brainy have access to the troll’s wounds.

Brainy starts to protest, but Papa Smurf’s hand darts out to cut him off.   

If there was a longer, more disbelieving stare in existence, it will have found a challenger in the look Papa Smurf is them right now. “So be it,” he says. “Go get the supplies Brainy.”

“Whatever,” grumbles Brainy, doing as he’s told, and shoots a hidden look that demands an explanation from his friend later. His expression reads how much of a strain it is not to say a quarter of what’s on his mind, seeing as now isn’t the time for an interrogation.

“May I see your arm?” Papa Smurf asks.

Branch narrows his eyes before twisting a little to show his bandaged limb. Some of the blood’s seep through by now. He holds back a bodily flinch when the old Smurf gingerly probes at it and feels along the troll’s whole arm. Papa Smurf tisks his lips.

“Poor thing. It’s nearly broken, not entirely severed. You’re doing a wonderful job of keeping it together. Most of my young Smurfs would be wailing their heads off.” He laughs. A hand is lain flat on the troll’s forehead. Branch’s eyes roll up with a frown at it. Papa Smurf nods after a few moments. “He has a mild fever. An infection may be setting in somewhere. Or _would have_ if you hadn’t dressed his wounds when you had. Well done, Hefty.”

“Thanks,” Hefty gushes. “I did what I could, given my difficult patient.” He pokes Branch in the cheek.

The troll snaps his jaws at him, bearing his teeth. Hefty rolls his eyes, smirking.

Papa Smurf chuckles. “OK, Mr. Branch, will you permit me to do a few more things? I need to check your tongue, eyelids, and assess your vitals.” When all he receives for his request is a hardening look from the creature, Papa Smurf tries for another approach. “How’s about this. Humor me by expressing yourself anyway you wish. Feel free to stick your tongue out at me or Brainy.”

Branch tilts his head, looks to the floor, thinking, then a mischievous smirk crosses his face. He whirls to the one with glasses and sticks his tongue out. Brainy’s mouth hangs open, the girls giggle and Hefty is relieved the troll is somewhat cooperating.

“Ah!” Papa Smurf exclaims, leaning towards the creature for a closer look at the pink flesh. “Nice, healthy color, and uncoated surface.” He holds up an open palm. “How’s about a high five?”

Branch glare becomes absolutely fierce.

Papa Smurf holds up his hands. “Alright, no high fives. Where else is he hurting?”

“His back,” Hefty answers softly, remembering how awful the marks were. “Four in all, two short, two long and deep.”

“Let’s have a look.”

“It’s OK,” Hefty whispers in Branch’s ear when the troll jerks back from the coming hands. Branch turns his head into Hefty’s shoulder, huffing loudly, impatience and discomfort evident. Hefty tenderly rubs the troll’s arm and tries coaxing him into leaning forward. Branch goes after some strong urging and lays his upper torso on Hefty’s arm, closing his eyes at the stretch and pulling from having to change into an awkward position.

Hefty rests his chin on Branch’s neck while Papa Smurf carefully peels away the layers of gauze. More and more of the multi-hued blood leaks, bleeding bright and renewed. Papa Smurf hisses with sympathy, shaking his head mournfully at the deep gashes. With careful precision, he lays a glowing finger over each scratch, mumbling softly.

Branch sits erect, groaning and constricting Hefty’s arm like it’s his lifeline. The pale blue light intensifies, morphing an electric lime. Every single strand of Branch’s hair worms like thousands of animated worms hug Hefty’s shoulders and arms, turning a stormy grey. And the troll’s shaking.

“Papa?” Hefty strains worriedly searching, the elder Smurf for an answer.

Papa sighs, waving the glow from his hand and steps away. “We’ll skip checking the rest of your body.” Branch sags like his bones were removed. He looks to the older Smurf, listening for an explanation. “From what I’m able to visibly gather, the worse of your injuries is your arm and backside. Both are easily remedied with a healing draught and some rest. Lots of rest and light meals. That means no wandering off on your own or skipping out on doctor’s orders. Am I clear?”

It’s said with such a parental firmness and a wagging finger, Branch is nodding before he remembers he’s supposed to be cautious.

“Good,” affirms Papa Smurf. “Brainy?”  

“Here it is!”

The weird one comes stalking over with one hand folded around a cylindrical glass tune, and the other palm crunched around something. He stops short of reaching Branch then winks. Branch frowns harder, eyebrows shooting up when the four-eyed Smurf drops something suspicious into the vile and grins happily when it stabilizes into a bright green. But there’s still steam filtering from the frothy surface.

“Drink this and you’ll feel like your old self in no time!”

Branch jerks back. “No thanks,” he finally utters, stubbornly glancing away.

“Branch, ya gotta drink it,” Hefty insists. “Don’t you wanna feel better?”

“Yeah, but I can heal the old fashion way. All this talk of potions and magic and weirdness, none of it sits right with me.” He unknowingly scoots into Hefty’s hold, glaring daggers when the glasses-wearing Smurf gets closer. The troll’s hair stands vertically, but only directs a lone clump of it like a smoothed blade at the Smurf. “I’m not drinking it. That’s the only time I’m gonna say it.”

Brainy looks confusingly at the potion in his hand. “But Papa Smurf says you have to. We always do what he says.”

Branch snorts. “Well, he’s not my Papa. I don’t have to do anything.”

“This is ridiculous,” Hefty barks, at long last, his patience completely dissolved. Stand back, Brainy.”

Branch blinks up at the strong Smurf when he surges to his feet with the troll still in his arms and turns to lay him flat the table. “H-hey, stop. What are you doing?”

One hand keeps him down, while the other reaches for the vile. “Give it to me!”

Brainy is startled into doing as he’s told. Hefty takes the draught and tips it back in one gulp, holding the liquid in his cheek.

The teal in Branch’s skin lessens significantly as realization flashes across his eyes. He thrashes harder, kicking out, hair going wild. But it’s then he feels ultimate betrayal when Poppy appears above his head, grabbing his hair and bundling it all into two separate sections and begins to twist.

“Poppy!” he shouts, gawking. “You’re on their side?”

“It’s for your own good,” she snaps back. All his hair is wound and tied, and it lays limp, useless daggling off the tangle. “How do you expect to get better if you won’t let them help?”

“That one had the whole place up in smoke!”

“People make mistakes.”

“I hate you—” Branch’s face is grabbed, his eyes fierce and dangerous as Hefty nears. “Don’t you dare— _mmmph, mmphm_!”

Hefty grasps the back of his neck, tipping Branch’s face up and presses his lips to the troll’s. Under everyone’s fascinated gaze, the liquid is trickle into the mouth under his, thick fingers massaging Branch’s throat enough that the draught is forcefully swallowed. 

 _“Mmmfffph!”_ Branch manages fretfully as he tries to detach his mouth from Hefty’s, and finds it sealed by pure, raw strength. Bracing palms pushed frantically at the Smurf’s shoulders as Branch wrenched back a little and yelps when both his hands are restrained and more of the hot, minty liquid slushes into his mouth by way of an equally moist, hot tongue.

Branch finally tears himself free after a rather unsettling moan gurgles in the back of his throat, to which, he prays was muted by the noise of his struggling. His breathing comes in frustrated pants, staring at Hefty who has no business looking as perturbed and mortified. It should be Branch allowing the flow of rage to ruin his expression, emptying his face of all its teal to spread into a darkening purple.

For some stiff, intense moments, nobody moves, breathes or reacts. But Branch does. As naturally as expected of a stubborn troll like him.

He flows slowly to his feet, omitting how much the draught really is working from his brain, then swiftly pivots towards Hefty. Without missing a beat, Branch’s fist comes rushing forward and it’s all Hefty’s right eye makes out before it’s slammed shut and he’s blasted on his rump.

“You stupid jerk!” Branch insults in what he hopes is a voice as frosty as he is teal. “I agreed to have your elder help me, and you do _that_. I oughta hit you again!”

Astonishingly, his words propel Hefty to his feet, his mouth set in a haughty line and that big nose pulled so high, Branch is surprised the big idiot can see past it. “I did what needed to be done, you stubborn idiot. Is every day a freakin’ trial with you?”

Branch stumbles back as the furious Smurf advances on him, large fists looking even meatier. “I never asked to be brought here. I never asked to be made a burden. I don’t like being treated like a handicap!”

“I wasn’t treatin’ you like anything!” Hefty pipes off, enraged. “I was doin’ the right thing. You were hurt and weak and too damn prideful to ask for help, so I did it for you!”

“I could have done it back home—!”

“—Which you wouldn’t have been able to get back to on your own with Poppy in tow—”

“How do you know? You’re the one who took it upon yourself to play hero. You never gave me a shot—”

“—Azrael had sliced you wide open. You were losing too much blood. You honestly think you could have done anything as you were—”

“I would have been just fine—”

“No. You. Wouldn’t. Have.  Branch!” Hefty rages, grabbing Branch by his shoulders and shaking him until the troll felt his teeth were jarred loose. “You bullheaded, ridiculous dumbass. By Mother Nature, I’ve never met someone who was so pissed about receiving help. You gotta make everything so complicated. I saved your life. I saved your friend’s life and you thank me by punchin’ me?”

Branch breaks away, heaving. “Well, thank you so very much for your help, Hefty Smurf.” He sarcastically gabs. “I appreciate you going over and beyond the scope of everything to keep us alive. There, satisfied!”

“Yeah, you’re freakin’ welcome!”

Their words dangle in the air between them where they stand, toe to toe, chest-to-chest, both breathing hard, flushed, and as the seconds ticked by, a tad startled by what was exchanged.

Then someone knocks softly at the door. It opens for two small, anxious blue eyes to peer through the silver. “Papa, are you guys fighting?” says the childish voice. “Why?”

Branch’s face changes. He breaks the stare down he was holding with Hefty to look towards the door as the elder Smurf walks over to open it wider, revealing a miniature Smurf wearing a white overall set.

“No, Baby Smurf, there’s no fighting in here.” Papa Smurf kneels to his level, wiggling the child’s protruding belly. “We’re just having a very loud conversation.”

“’Bout what?”

“A mutual disagreement between adults is all.”

“Oh, OK.” Perplexity crosses the child’s face before he nods. “Because those are important to have to reach a happy medium. Right Papa?”

Baby Smurf tucks his thumb in the corner of his mouth and turns his face to assess everyone in the room, gaze lingering longest on the strange, hairy beings. Especially the one who seems as blue as them.

“Oh!” he says suddenly in a tone of enlightenment, finger popping forth as he pointed it at them. “You’re the hairy freaks from the woodlands!”

“Baby Smurf!” Hefty snaps, feeling as offended as Poppy and Branch no doubt do. “Watch your mouth. Ya know better than that!”

The child hides behind Papa Smurf’s leg, giving that appealing pout Branch recognizes from the little trollets from his own village. “But Grouchy said it. Gutsy too. They’re always saying things. I listen because they’re funny. You say stuff like that with them too. You just like to pretend you don’t.”

“You-you take that back, you lil’ runt!”

Delighted with his intelligence, Baby Smurf dances on his tippy toes, humming happily and laughs.

Branch couldn’t help rolling his eyes. “You’re a real role model,” he mutters unkindly. His anger effectively diffused by the interruption, he faces Hefty. “You should really watch what you say around kids. They’re impressible and—and get some ice for that eye. It’s turning purple.”

“Right, should probably do that,” he replies wearily, the angry tension seeping from his shoulders.

Branch watches as Hefty rubs at his temple like a headache has developed, giving the troll a considering study, then steps around him towards the door. “I’m heading out,” he grumbles, annoyed and dismissively shutting the door behind him.

And dismissing the whole freak-out session they’d just had. Branch shifts his weight from foot to foot indecisively, and folds his arms, sighing at the door. Here comes that stupid hill of guilt laying on his chest. He didn’t need to turn around to know the lay cupping his shoulder is Poppy.

“I really messed up, huh?” Branch questions, hesitantly tipping the corner of his lip. “In typical branchy fashion.”

“In typical branchy fashion,” she echoes patiently, humming thoughtfully. “Which for you is normal, but not this early. It took me and Creek years to get this much emotion out of you. And here this guy’s managed to do it in a matter of days.”

Branch considers responding with a solid reason that Hefty is an exceptionally annoying idiot, but knows better. Hefty has yet to do anything outside of being friendly and helpful. Branch just hates getting close to anyone. Getting close means entitling them to certain things about himself that he just can’t let go of yet. He squeezes his arms around his torso, lips grimly stretching into a firm line.

“You should get some rest,” is what Smurfette says, politely making her presence known. She offers a smile, looking between them. “The draught can only work if you don’t overdo it. We have a spare mushroom for you two to share until you’re ready to head home.”

“Thank you,” says Poppy. “We’d like that, won’t we?”

Branch has a steady fix on the door as if expecting it to open an emit a certain strong Smurf. The moments flow by, but nothing happens. He eventually realizes Smurfette’s speaking to him again and looks at her with an apologetic, crooked grin. “Sorry, yeah, I’ll appreciate it. . . but. . .” he chances looking towards the door again.

Smurfette smiles wider. “Don’t worry about him. After I show you guys to the mushroom, I’ll check on him. I know him better than anybody.”

A strange look enters Branch’s face before he has a chance to erase it. Smurfette tilts her head. “Something wrong?”

“No,” he says softly. “Nothing. Lead the way.”

Baby Smurf gleams after the trio leaving. “I wanna go too!”

“Oh no you don’t,” Brainy grabs the child by the shoulder, jerking back. “You’ve done enough damage, kiddo. Namely reminding me to lecture Grouchy and Gutsy on the importance of censoring their language around nosey children.”

“I am not nosey!” Baby Smurf stamps his foot. “Nosey Smurf is nosey!”

Branch chuckles under his breath as they’re escorted out the backdoor away from prying eyes and is cautiously shushed by Smurfette’s finger. A smile breaks across his face anyway. This village promises to provide some interesting entertainment.

“I figured we would find you here.”

Hefty glances over his perch at the three sets of eyes watching him from below.

“Go away,” he grouches with attitude, tossing shells from a half-eaten walnut over. “I’m not good company right now.”

Then Clumsy says with reckless abandonment. “Say Hefty, is it true that blue hairy fellow popped ya into next week? Brainy says you’re gonna go blind.”

Hefty tips his face around so Brainy can see how truly in danger of dying he is.

“Hehehe,” Brainy shuffles his feet. “I may have exaggerated a bit. It was more like he clocked him so hard he could see Orion’s Star Belt. I know at the ferocity of that—um, what are they called?”

“Trolls,” Hefty deadpans.

“Right, that troll, considering his slimmer proportional figure, shouldn’t have been able to knock Hefty off his feet. But there’s some power in that body. You should have seen it Clumsy. Talk about a proper KO. Hefty didn’t stand a chance.”

Hefty groans long and angry. “Shut. Up. Brainy!” He shouts and rolls over and takes a mighty leap down, landing square in the nerd’s space. “For your information, I saw that punch comin’ a mile away. What did you expect me to do? I can’t hit him back. I’ll splatter his guts all over the place!”

Brainy dully blinks, unimpressed. “You could’ve pinched him. Anyway, here, Papa made this for you.” A brown burlap sack is fished out of his hat and passed to the strong Smurf. “Some cooling turmeric root for that eye.”

“Thanks.” Hefty sighs, slouching against the tree and slaps the pack against his eye. “Geez, this smarts. He really packs a wallop, huh?” He sags all the way to the ground.

Smurfette, Clumsy, and Brainy join him in a circle and they all sigh as one, looking towards the sky.

“Where are they now?” Hefty asks moments later.

“I took them to the safe mushroom house,” says Smurfette. “Handy Smurf offered to keep watch in case anyone tries to look through their windows.”

“Well, that’s good.”

Brainy clucks his tongue. “I don’t know why we’re going through the trouble of helping these strangers. That Branch guy clearly doesn’t want our help. Hmmph, he has a fine way of showing his gratitude. I say we toss them out the way they came.”

“That’s not nice, Brainy,” Clumsy offers, shrugging. “You wouldn’t want them to do that to you if you were in their shoes. Ya gotta look at it from their perspective. They dunno what our intentions are.”

“Huh, yeah, good point.”

Smurfette scoots closer to Hefty to properly situate his sack across his eye. “Branch asked about you.”

“Yeah, I bet,” grumps Hefty. “Probably wonderin’ how effective that punch was.”

“I think he wants to apologize.”

“If that’s the case, he needs to come tell me himself. I won’t accept it through anyone else.”

“I know. Just thought you should know.” Smurfette thinks a moment, then adds, “But it may take a couple of days. Papa says he needs bedrest and food.”

Hefty stays quietened, face a complex mix of emotions, eyes shifting on the front between the four of them. He licks his lips, strangely tasting the residue of that draught and . . . a subtlety of a foreign zest. He grunts, rubbing vigorously at his tingling lips. “I can wait,” he says and leans back to take in the clouds swimming languidly through the course of time.

 _‘I will wait,’_ Hefty secretly decides.

If the troll really wants to apologize, Hefty won’t go to him to find out.

It’s Branch’s turn to seek him out.

“Ya know,” Clumsy randomly starts, reclining on his hands. “I just thought about something.”

“Pertaining to what?” inquires Brainy.

Clumsy shrugs. “Those two have some weird names.”

Brainy laughs, slapping his thigh. “No kidding. _Branch._ Who names their kid after a tree limb?”

“Or a flower.”

“Poppy doesn’t sound all that bad.”

“Branch doesn’t either,” Hefty quietly adds in. “It’s a nice name.”

“Says you,” chuckles Brainy. “Careful Hefty, taking up for that troll guy. We might think you have a crush on him.”

Hefty’s mouth twists to the side, rolling his eyes. “Shut up, Brainy or should I talk about your unhealthy obsession with Baker Smurf.”

Brainy pales. “Y-you, big mouth, brutish, meat head. I told you that in confidence!”

“Aww, Brainy I had no idea,” gushes Smurfette. “You have a crush on Baker!”

“S-shut up, I do not!”

“Baker and Brainy sittin’ in da’ tree,” sings Clumsy. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G—”

Hefty tunes out their bantering, turning bodily away from the others laughter. With the attention successfully off him, he has time to ponder. Him have a crush on Branch? Hardly the case. The troll just has a beautiful singing voice and pretty teal skin and—and nice hair and . . . really soft lips—

Hefty smacks his face. “Get it together, Heft-Man,” he scolds himself. Stupid Brainy for saying stupid stuff.

Stupid Branch for being so-so stupid and branchy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am realllllly looking forward to what's in store in the next chapter. Lol


	6. Beryl Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a whole lot of Branch and Hefty interaction in this chapter, but the development is necessary. I've already started on chapter 7 and that promises to be worth the anticipation! Please enjoy!

**Beryl Blue**

 

**Disclaimer: I own none of the songs used in this chapter**

 

“Where do you think you’re going, Branch?”

Branch winches a little, but he has to turn around and smile guiltily at Poppy. It’s the fourth time she’s caught him trying to sneak out bed since they arrived yesterday. He knew she’d gone to make introductions with the Smurf who came around this morning offering to fix them a second bed to accommodate their privacy. It was the perfect opportunity. She’s been weary of the stirring in Branch’s urgency to be out in the open instead of confined. Which only reinforced the need for her to practice providing extra security in her Poppy-fashion.

And she is perfecting the job of playing sentinel guardian, looking through the window from the outside, hanging over the ledge, eyes narrowed with something that could be either suspicion or annoyance.

“I was, um, I needed a stretch.” Branch demonstrates extending his arms over head and steeps his upper torso to the right, then left. “I feel good this morning. Actually, I feel like going for a jog—”

“—Back to bed!”  Poppy purses her lips to the side so tight, they resemble a ripe cherry. She has the unfortunate habit of doing that when she means business. “And stay there, or I’ll run off singing loud enough to attract every beast within a fifty-mile radius. Don’t believe me?” She loudly jeers when all Branch does is thin his eyes at her.

When she inhales, Branch admits defeat right away. “OK, OK, OK, no need to be so darn persuasive. Sheesh, Poppy. You know they have padded places for lunatics like you!”

“I only do it because I love you, Grumpy Pants!” She dips out of sight and the low murmuring continues like she hadn’t just threatened to go on a suicide stroll.

This time, like the last failed attempts and effectively defeated, Branch saunters back to bed, snatching the bedcovers back and slides in. He flipped the blankets back over his feet with an anger so intense, it hurt like a pair of hands were slapping at his temples. He hates being trapped, always has, always will. It’s unfair how easily she renders Branch an obedient invalid all because she really is foolish enough to go to such lengths to get what she wants.

And Branch conceals a rueful sigh for knowing he allows the treatment to happen because it’s her own, while incredibly screwy and outrageous, way of ensuring he doesn’t hurt himself.

But she rarely focuses on her own health and general welfare. And on that note, “Poppy!” Branch calls out. She appears at the window caught in a fit of giggles. “Why aren’t you in here? Wasn’t your ankle bust up or something?”

“Oh that.” Poppy sniffs and goes to bodily haul herself up and over to lay her legs over the ledge’s edge. “See?” She displays her freshly washed and bandaged ankle for his satisfaction. “Papa Smurf says I’m on a fast track to recovery. Nothing’s broken. Just some swelling and bruises.” She lowers her leg, cocking an amused eyebrow. “Even if it was broken, do you honestly believe they’d be able to contain me? Have you not met me? I’d be in here decorating, rummaging through drawers and,” Poppy pauses and by marginal motions, her face becomes an animated spill of wonder.

Branch cuts her mind off at the pass. “No. Poppy, no, for cryin’ out loud, woman. Have a care for their private property!”

“I am!” she shoots back, squinting mischievously. “I wasn’t going to do anything super extravagant!”

Branch gives her the hardest look he can conjure, and she’s spooked into a squeak.

“Fine, whatever.” She disappears once more, uttering a low ‘ _spoiled sport’_ and something along the lines of _‘there’s more than one way to skin a caterpillar.’_

Branch leans against the headboard, regarding the spacious room for the umpteenth time. It’s a simple layout with all your basic necessities. A wooden dinner table with a matching chair, well two since Handy’s arrived. Two windows dressed in plain white curtains were aligned some feet away from the main doorway and beneath those were stands, one supporting a clay vase of yellow daisies and the other with a ceramic wash basin and jug. There’s a rustic fireplace embedded in the wall with a blank portrait reclining on a shelf. There’s an upper level to the home that neither troll has explored yet and that’s out of courtesy for the Smurfs. Besides the bed, the only other furniture to take up room in the humble mushroom is the tall bookshelf packed into the corner with no less than twenty thick novels written in a language, thankfully, similar to how trolls speak.

He’d taken to reading one of them last night to help distract him from the boredom and long spells of silence at night, which often were disturbed by some distant cry from a creature or the padding steps of a Smurf out doing who knows what. It’d help for a while, but then the words would blur, his comprehension detaches and his mind’s off like fireworks in every direction. On this strange place, constantly wondering about Poppy, concerned for the trolls back home and he can privately admit that he hopes Hefty is alright.

Branch knows he sets the standard for being overly stubborn. Creek’s said it enough to where Branch feels entitled to the term. Nobody really understands how difficult it is for Branch to feel like someone else’s responsibility. He’d much rather be the only one who needs to be concerned for himself. At least that way no one has to put themselves in the position of acting as his protector.

. . . His grandmother was the best one of them and look what happened to her.

Fingers clenching in the sheets, Branch inhales the best he can around the sour lump at the back of his throat and shudders hard. He blinks back the routine tears that always come whenever he thought of her sweet face and her bright, loving smile. She always smelled like peaches and brown sugar and that bitter lemon cleaning water she always kept on hand in her hair whenever Branch’s face got dirty.

He braces his forehead in his palm, studying the space between his gapped legs and keeps a stern control over his emotions until they’re firmly locked behind that impenetrable wall. Branch grabs the book under his pillow and continues where he left off last time. Since his chances of leaving this stuffy shroom is unlikely, Branch tries to lose himself in learning more about the Smurfs historical context between the periods described thru chapters three and seven. . .

He really is pitiful, isn’t he?

Hefty sighs and twists to readjust the stiffening in his shoulders. Not even a bout of pull-ups and hanging sit-ups does the trick. His mind refuses to settle, daydreams too full of round blue eyes, teal skin and crazy blue hair. Or maybe its purple. When the sun shines on it, the color tends to shift between the shades.

Smiling a little self-deprecatingly, eyes on the sunshine peeking through the canopy as he worries the stalk of grass between his teeth, he gives a snort and closes his eyes. Here Hefty promised himself he wouldn’t think twice about that prideful troll, but it’s all he’s been doing since yesterday; fighting off the urge to see if he’s doing alright, asking questions from the others in case they saw him, or holding himself back from bringing the troll whatever he may need.

Hefty spits the grass away and wishes the breeze sweeping over his face would do the same with his thoughts. His conscience was screaming something wicked, a nasty tug of war between logic and true intentions.

_Give into temptation._

_What for, he’s fine._

_What will it hurt to check on Branch and Poppy?_

_I’m sure they’re doing alright._

_Yeah right, you know Poppy is fine. What you really want to do is check on Branch._

_Branch hit me for giving a damn. He doesn’t care for real._

_Ever considered that he feels scared. Maybe lashing out is the only way he knows how to respond._

Hefty absently rubs at his face. That’s some way to show you’re nervous. The handful of times he’s ever felt scared, Hefty reacted in a less volatile manner. But Branch isn’t him, is he? There’s no telling how betrayed the troll may have felt back then, being forced to drink a tonic he thought could have been poisoned. After all, hadn’t he said before they went into Papa’s shroom that he was still unsure if he could trust Hefty?

Hefty’s eyes shoot open, then he tosses his arm over his eyes. “Crud!” How could he be so blind? Now he feels like a total jerk. Why hadn’t he thought about it from the troll’s point of view?

Because he’d been so dead set on wanting Branch to get better that it never crossed Hefty’s mind. So, is it really his fault? Or is his mind just fishing for excuses to be the first to break the silent treatment between himself and Branch. Hefty feels like punching something. He hates when his brain goes all confused and stuff.

His brow kits in frown and his nostrils suddenly flare. A smile smooths the expression off his face as he moves to peek over the branch and spies Smurfette and Clumsy coming over with Smurfberry pies. Well, Smurfette is balancing two. Clumsy has his whole face and the front of his chest smeared in the sticky residue indicating that his share of the food met an unfortunate end along the way.

“Hiya, Hefty!” calls Clumsy. “Baker made a bunch a’ pies for us. He’s passin’ ‘em out to the village. Me and Smurfette made sure ta’ grab ya one.”

Hefty rolls off and lands on his feet, eagerly taking the round pie and sniffs it. His face goofily melts with contentment. “Thanks guys. I missed breakfast this mornin’.”

“We know,” says Smurfette, gesturing the three of them go sit under the shade. “That’s why we brought you something back. Chef thought it was weird you missed your bacon and eggs. He asked Baker to whip you up a pie with extra Smurfberries.”

“And he even sliced it up for me.” Hefty’s going to have to remember to help around the kitchen later for the cook’s thoughtfulness. Then he shoots a dubious glare at the two Smurfs before him. “Alright, you’ve used your excuse to check on me. Now what do you want?”

Smurfette blinks, then shrugs. “Fine, I won’t beat around the bush. You’ve been moping since yesterday. If not talking to Branch is making you so miserable, why don’t you two just bury the hatchet and make friends?”

“Who’s miserable?”

“You, Hefty Smurf!”

Hefty rolls his eyes, polishing off the first two slices of pie. The freshly baked, buttery crust and gooey settle on the bed of Hefty’s tongue. A tingly sensation shoots from his toes to his tail and it’s wagging before he can stop himself. He sees Clumsy shifting out of his peripheral and passes the Smurf two slices. Clumsy happily grabs the share and stuffs them in his mouth. 

“I already told you what it’s gonna take.” Hefty marches to the tree and sits. “He’s gonna have to get off that high horse of his and make peace. I’m done catering to that jerk.”

“That isn’t fair, Hefty. Branch and Poppy don’t know a thing about us. When you kissed him—”

Hefty flushes from neck to head. “I didn’t kiss him!” he snaps. “I made him take his stupid medicine!”

“Sure looked like a smooch to me.”

“Yeah, it would to a girl. You’re always looking between the cracks for some nonexistent relationship.” He huffs and looks away. “And for your information, I only did what was necessary at the time. It was the only tactic I could think of on short notice.”

Clumsy comes to flank Hefty’s hand and trips over his feet. Hefty’s arm is already darting out to catch him before his face smacks into the tree trunk. “Thanks,” he murmurs and gets cozy next to the larger Smurf. “Ya know, I would feel scared if I were in a village full of weird lookin’ creatures. We don’t trust a whole lotta folks outside of ourselves either.”

“But I haven’t given him a reason to doubt me,” Hefty argues back, looking between his friends. “I don’t appreciate this team up. Where’s Brainy?” At least with the nerd around, Hefty feels the playing field would be evened out. Brainy would likely agree him on this topic even if they usually disagreed on others.

Clumsy chuckles behind his hands, feet kicking with glee. “Oh, that’s right. He doesn’t know what happened at breakfast, Smurfette!”

Smurfette bursts into hearty giggles, feet and hands tucked in with barely contained laughter. “Hefty you’re going to forever hate you did. Jokey pulled the funniest trick on Baker Smurf. Jokey made a fake pie and stuffed it in the gift box to hand over to Baker. Brainy saw and tried to stop him, but right as it’s about to explode, he tosses it to Brainy and pushes him into Baker. The two of them were covered in cream and bananas. Then Jokey says—”

“No, no, no,” laughs Clumsy. “Lemme tell this part!” He clears his throat and tries to mimic the jokester’s voice. “So, I imagine this is your idea of a successful slumber party, huh Brainy?” Clumsy cracks up, slapping his knee. “It didn’t help that Brainy landed right on top a’ Baker and the poor Smurf didn’t know what to do. I swear we thought he was gonna pass out. His glasses fogged up and everythan’!”

“Brainy says he won’t come back into society until he’s earned his colors.”

Hefty wipes a tear from his eyes, having laughed hysterically. He can picture the whole scene and remembering how deeply fond Brainy is for Baker only seals the punchline. Poor guy. He’ll have to check on him to make sure he hasn’t passed out from embarrassment.

“Now the whole village knows somethin’ is up,” Clumsy says. “Papa grounded Jokey until the next Blue Moon. I reckon we can look forward to a peaceful couple a’ months.”

“Serves him right, the idiot.”

“At least if Jokey’s out of the picture we don’t have to worry about him startling the trolls.” Smurfette hums and turns to Hefty. “Speaking of whom, Papa says Branch looks better. He still has a fever, but it’s nothing to get worked up over. They’re going to need some new clothes.” She smiles. “You could take them to Tailor’s shop when Branch recovers. Poppy will definitely want to get a new dress to replace her old one.”

Hefty looks at Smurfette. Really looks at her because he’s never heard her sound so whimsical and quiet at once. She has an odd expression on her face, a peculiar glint in her eyes. Drawing a leg up, does the same to his eyebrow and discreetly elbows Clumsy in the side to get his attention. He nods in question to Clumsy about Smurfette and all the clumsy Smurf does is hunch his shoulders.

Maybe she’s worried about Hefty not making up with Branch. Yeah, that would explain why she looks so-so off. No, that’s not it. She seems strangely transfixed on a thought. Hefty shakes his head. He doesn’t need to add anymore confusion to his laundry list of junk he’s already got piled up. Most of them related to a singular problem and like the soft-hearted Smurf he is, his head’s already combining him to do what’s best. Hefty climbs to his feet and sighs. Seems like he’s going to be the one who has to break the ice.

How lame of him. He barely survived twenty-four hours.

“Alright, guys,” he rallies, stiffly straightens and looks as if his neck has an extra five muscle chords. “Let’s get this stupid thing over with.” Then he’s marching off with clenched fist, a sharp chop to his stride and a pair of Smurfs trailing behind unable to fathom what changed Hefty’s mind.

But they’re glad he did.

Branch spends more of the day lost in words and illustrations until time itself blurs and he’s sequestered himself to the dining table where sunlight streams in like liquid gold and spotlights just right over the colorfully depicted pages. It’s the third book he’s pulled away from the shelf, with the first two neatly stacked by his arm, read from cover to cover.

He never cared much any learning about other creatures before. The trolls were the only bipedal intelligence he figured existed outside of the dreaded Bergens. But here, he sees the Smurfs are a fascinating subject.

The page in front of him, for example, explains plenty about the maturity and significance about certain coming-of-age rituals performed in a Smurf’s lifetime. Such as the glow of a full Blue Moon symbolizing the birth of a new Smurf and their deliverance following the immediate morning. Whoever’s stoop the stork lays the newborn Smurfling, that Smurf will be honored as the baby’s guardian until their hundredth year, to which, will be the day another grand day happens; their naming ceremony.

However, while the Smurfling may be under the guardianship of a single Smurf, the entire village has a hand in raising them.

Branch has pretty much established how the Smurfs name themselves after meeting Handy. Whatever dominate traits the Smurfs exhibit during their first hundred years is what the elder hones on and it is he (or her, which is oddly scribbled in), encourages that Smurf to express that specific skill or emotion until their individuality is fully recognized.

The part describing the day a Smurf earns their colors intrigues Branch most. It’s a mark of reaching adulthood or rather, a case where the emblematic stage of achieving maturity is determined by the elder after a certain test has been passed or act of some sort is worthy of being blessed with a colored Phrygian cap of their choosing. So, being that the majority of the Smurfs Branch has seen all have white caps, does that mean none of them are adults?

And their ages. . . Branch finds it hard to believe they can be over a century old. What creatures live that long? How old is Hefty? Is he close to a young adult or a teenager?

A tap to his shoulder purposely jerks him from his reading. He looks up to find Poppy watching him read with eyebrows high to her hairline, like she couldn’t decipher what was so intriguing about Branch reading a picture book when scrapbooks are much more entertaining. And of course, she isn’t alone.

The one called Handy Smurf stalls a distance away, rocking back and forth on his heels, scribbling away at a notepad and murmuring incoherently about something or another.

“What’cha reading?” Poppy snatches the book away before Branch has the chance to say. “Oh, cool. Smurf stuff. Is this how you guys make scrapbooks?” She holds it open for Handy’s inspection.

He comes over, scratching at his head. “Not too sure I ever heard of a, urm, what do you call it? A scratch-book? Nah, nothing like that around here. We write words and draw pictures in ours. All of our books are like that.”

Poppy visibly winches, then tips the book upside down and holds it out, tilting her head as she flips through the pages. “Sounds boring.” She tosses the book behind without checking to see where it lands.

“I reckon it would for someone like you,” laughs Handy. “It’s about close to lunchtime. Are you hungry?”

“Sure, we’re totally famished!” Poppy says for the two of them. “Aren’t we, Branch?”

Branch opens his mouth to speak, but something else enters the conversation. He ducks his head, patting his belly. “Guess that answers that.” Branch suddenly looks puzzled, then worried. “You guys eat things other than sarsaparilla, right?”

“Of course,” Handy affirms. “Those are more for snack time. Papa Smurf uses them for numbing tonics too.”

“No kidding,” grumbles Branch.

“Do either of you have a preference? Or do trolls eat anything?”

Poppy makes show of tapping her chin in deep thought. “I sure could use a whole cake and milk.”

Handy nods. “That can be arranged for you, ma’am. What about you, Branch?”

“Nothing heavy,” Branch goes back to flipping a page in his book. “A salad or cheese sandwich will do.”

“Still don’t trust us, huh? Afraid we’ve got some hidden motive for helping you out.” Hefty smirks, hands going to his hips. “Say, why don’t you humor me? Chef can make some of the best roasted mushrooms this side of Smurf Village. I’ll get you your sandwich, but you gotta promise to eat the mushrooms too. I promise you won’t regret it.” He adds when Branch shoots him a searching glare. 

When he can’t detect any hidden agendas, and tossing a quick glance at an eagerly nodding Poppy, Branch concedes with a single nod.

“Great!” Handy walks over to cap the troll’s shoulder, ignoring the way Branch sneers at his hand. “Just you wait, you’re going to love it. Be back later guys!” With that said, Handy prepares to leave the pair to fetch their lunch.

Branch’s ears perk up. “Hey wait!”

Handy stalls in the doorway. “Yes?”

Branch jerks a thumb at Poppy. “Just two slices of strawberry cake, and half a glass of milk will do. I don’t think your village is adequately structured to survive one of her sugar rushes.”

“Branch!” Poppy cries in disappointment, stuffing her hands under her armpits. “How could you?”

“Shut up. Be grateful I said two instead of half of one. I’m doing these guys a favor.”

Handy laughs his way out the door, shaking his head.

Poppy holds Branch’s gaze all a few seconds before succumbing to his silent victory and goes to slide in the chair opposite him, and puts her chin in her hands, pouting. She spends a full minute showing him how crossed she is by kicking the table’s leg and loudly tapping a rhythmic beat on the tabletop with stretched tips of her hair. When the noise begins to pick up octave, and she’s humming, Branch calmly shuts his book and gives her an unimpressed stare.

“Fine, Poppy. You have my attention. What do you wanna talk about? And no,” Branch perches his chin on the back of his hand, “I’m not gonna renege on the cake.”

Poppy opens her mouth, then closes it. That part of the conversation successfully deterred, she moves to another topic. “How are you feeling? Really.” Her voice dips on the last word.

Branch pretends to be oblivious towards Poppy’s cryptic question and bumps his shoulder once. “About as well as anybody mauled by a cat can be.” When she narrows her eyes, Branch rolls his and flips the book back open. “Any and all parties with the first letter of their name beginning with H and ending in Y are off limits. I don’t feel like talking about him right now.”

“You should apologize.”

“You should mind your business.”

“Hefty didn’t mean any harm,” Poppy tries to reason. “He’s been a great help; saving us from that cat, bringing us to his home, giving us shelter. He risked exposing his village to total strangers. Don’t you think he deserves some credit for his generosity?”

Some of the edge leaves Branch’s posture. He hates so much how right she is. The book is closed and pushed to the side so he can fold his arms over the table top and lay his face inside. “I hate feeling like I’m not in control,” he murmurs, shifting his face to the side. “I didn’t know how to react when he made me take that medicine. Felt kinda odd, being held down. . . I couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. . . I was—was nervous.”

“You felt scared,” Poppy guesses softly and reaches across the table to take his hand. “Branch, Hefty wouldn’t hurt you. He seems like he cares a whole lot about you in fact.”

Branch snorts. “Crazy how that is. We’ve barely known each other a week and he’s already talkin’ friendship bracelets and what color nail polish to use for slumber parties.”

“Nothing wrong with expanding your social circle.” She squeezes his hand. He returns the gesture just as firm and warm. Unseen by him, Poppy’s smile grows, her eyes crinkle with hidden affection and her voice softly exults a friendly melody. _“Thank you for being a friend, travel down the road and back again. Your heart is true, you’re a pal and a confidant.”_  

Branch lifts his head, looks away, then settles his head back on his arms.

Poppy leaves her chair to come rub his shoulders. _“You just call on me brother, when you need a hand, we all need somebody to lean on. Lean on me.”_

The scowl he fights to keep gradually thaws to the warmth of her voice tickling his ear. He playfully swats at her hands when they tickle at his neck.

She dances away, takes a leap on lands on the tip of her right foot. “Come on, you know you wanna sing!”

Branch rolls his eyes as the beginning of those muscles tug at the corners of his mouth like before. Like that time he’d left Hefty. Branch touches at his mouth, fingers tracing his lips and the arch in his cheeks. A smile? He feels it spreading. It feels, feels kind of nice. The difference is subtle though. He knows it’d been bigger when he left Hefty and the feeling more intense.

“Oh Branch, look at you. I always knew you had a beautiful smile.”

And Branch blushes like someone painted his face plum. He lowers his head, but Poppy’s already seen it. He coughs into his hand, and slips off his chair. Still focused on the floor, he holds out his hand and draws in a breath.

_“When you’re not strong, I’ll be your friend. I’ll help you carry on. For it won't be long  
'til I'm gonna need somebody to lean on. . .” _

Poppy moves to him and reaches for his hand.

Branch snatches it at the last minute. “Sike!” He laughs at her pout and spins into a finger snapping jig. _“Everybody move your feet and feel united, wooah. Everybody move your feet and feel united, wooah!”_

While Branch was thinking up a decent way to coax Poppy to follow him into a coordinated dance, she deigns to break into her own and initiates a challenge. _“Making my way down town, walking fast, faces past and I’m home bound!”_ She slides past him, arms out and swinging high _“Staring blankly ahead just making my way through the crowd!”_

 _“Whoa oh, whoa oh, whoa oh, whoa oh!”_ Branch laughs rich gales of the sound with a merriment unmatched and switches beats. _“If you’re alone and you need a friend, someone to make you forget your problems. Just come along baby, take my hand. I’ll be your buddy tonight—_!”  

Poppy steps away in alarm when Branch buckles and crumbles. She’s at his side to catch him before he can fully land on the floor. She heaves him on her leg and when it becomes evident he can’t stand. “Oh Branch, I,” her hand lands on his back. She jerks it away when it comes back moist and warm. She gently grazes her fingertips where the dark stain bled through and gasps. “Branch. . .” she whispers.

“Bed,” he gasps sharply, bracing one hand to the floor, the other on her shoulder and presses down hard. Poppy helps him to his feet, and offers her shoulder to support him on the short trek to the bed. She flips the covers away and guides him on the bed’s edge. “Dang,” he grumbles, hissing as he shrugs off his vest. “Must’ve opened my cuts. S’burnin’ pretty bad back there.”

“It’s bled through,” whimpers Poppy, sniffling.

“Hey none of that.” Branch points a finger at her. “I mean it. Don’t you dare cry.”

She nods fervently. Tears stand under her eyes anyway. Branch sighs, seeing it a hopeless cause and shakes his head.

Branch reaches out towards his friend, letting his fingers brush the long strands of hair falling over her brow, the curve of her jawline and the smooth plane of her cheek. Then he uses one arm to bring her into a tight hug and she all but oozes into his embrace, curling her hands into his chest.  

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers against his cheek, in a tone of long suffering. “You’re like this because of me. I never said thank you for risking your life to save me.”

“It’s all good, Poppy. You know I’d do anything for you.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“It doesn’t even hurt that much.”

“Yes, it does. You don’t have to lie for my sake.”

“Fine, it feels like a bunch of spiders gnawing into my back. Happy?”

She sobs harder. Branch panics.

“I was kidding!” Branch rubs her back, thinks of a better idea and strokes over her hair with long, sweeping brushing. “Come on, Poppy, stop it. You’re really putting me through the paces here.”

“It’s only because I care,” she sniffles and snuggles deeper into his chest. Branch hugs her as close as he can without straining his back and sighs fondly. “Someone has to look out for you. You definitely won’t.”

“Maybe not.” Branch stares at the space past her shoulder. He struggles for a moment on what to say without the moment easily morphing into a sappy, then gives up and decides to suck it up. “As uncomfortable as I am with us having this chick moment, this just goes to show how much I’m willing to indulge you.”

“You do a lot of that.”

“I owe you,” Branch says humorously. “When it boils down to it, if it weren’t for you and . . .” he gulps with disgust, “that stuck-up, vain troll back home, I’d still be alone and grey. You never gave up on me when others did. I’m gonna forever appreciate that, Poppy.”

Poppy moves back a little to consider his face. She gives a watery smile when he gives her a lopsided grin. It’s adorable and looks so adorably weird. She snuggles back in his arms and Branch happily lifts his other arm to squeeze her close. For now, he’s able to forget his troubles and remember he isn’t alone.

And he’s able to get through anything.

That’s what friends are for.

Hefty wants to be his friend. Maybe. . . maybe they could be.

 _‘What could it hurt?’_ Branch closes his eyes, savoring the warmth of his best friend.   

Smurfette and Clumsy left Hefty alone to his own devices. It’d been the best choice at the time. The chance to speak to Branch alone became more prominent, the idea very welcoming.

Now he wishes they had stayed.

Outside the door's face hole, Hefty lingers long enough to see the trolls’ hug won’t end anytime soon.

A heaviness sinks in his belly, something akin to dread.

He’d come to say what was on his mind, rekindle what little they’d gained, but, suddenly the bravery has waned, and the eagerness to see Branch has lessened. Not with him like this. He’d wanted to hear Branch sing, hear those sweet bars purr in his ears the way they had before. Hefty got his wish. But Branch did it for her, not him.

So, where does that leave Hefty?

A million and one questions speed through his mind from so much that’s revealed between the trolls. Hefty’s emotions cycle rapid and confusing. Maybe being friends isn’t as high a probability as he’d thought. He slinks away from the door before he's noticed, kicking at the ground.

Hefty goes to find the others. He could really use a friend right about now.  

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I can't wait until you guys read the next chapter!


	7. Electric Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you guys may like this chapter. We're finally getting somewhere. *winks* Please excuse any mistakes and enjoy!!!

**Electric Blue**

Something’s dreadfully wrong. Creek could feel it in his bones.

He knew the night Poppy and Branch didn’t return home. He knew it when he went searching for them all over the forest. He knew it now as he scooped the stained earth where evidence of a struggle took place.

There’s old blood here, hollow grooves slashed into the ground and disturbances from the broken twigs and sticks, and the scatter of healthy green leaves that have no business being detached from their main source. Everywhere he turns, there is more and more to add to the scenario fabricating in his head of what occurred. And the more he sees, the more anxious he becomes.

Poppy must have been in danger. Branch acted—impulsively more than likely—to rescue her. Their enemy was formidable, but Branch must’ve had it on the ropes for a brief time given the heavily indentured impressions left here and there. Then there’s a spin print in the grass, to which, Creek trials, after mimicking the rotation on a single foot, and turns towards a gap between two thick trucks.

He walks towards it, braces his hand on the larger tree and closes his eyes upon discovering a larger, darker stigma cast across an aged leaf and some of the dirt soiled in blood. Creek doesn’t have trouble deducing who the blood belongs to and that’s what worries him much. It can only be Branch’s. Creek has wandered through the surrounding terrain and found strands of Poppy’s hair hidden away in a place she must have camouflage in to get away from whatever beast caused all of this.

Oh, how Creek wishes he had been here. Surely him and Branch would have been able to handle the creature just fine. After they tended to each other’s wounds and had a laugh over the incident, Creek would promptly lecture Branch on being reckless, Poppy for being careless and berate his own self for foolishly not going after the pair when they left in the first place.

Creek hasn’t stopped berating his ignorance since his worries began. How could he? They’re his responsibility. He promised them both he’d always be there, to protect them and here he’d gone and allowed this mess to happen.

Some friend and confidant he’s turned out to be.

Now, the question remains as to where the duo currently are.

Certainly not dead. Creek knows them better than that. . .

“Creek,” The faint voice comes from far behind, and Creek lifts his head to it. Guy Diamond’s skidding down the embankment, face etched in concern. “Nothing along the stream or the edge of the forest.”

Creek returns the leaf to the ground. “Have you heard anything from the others?”

A rueful headshake. “They’re too shook up to be of any real help. Did you find something?”

“I wish I hadn’t.” Then Creek gestures towards the discolored leaf and soil. “Our dear Branch seems to have tangled with a tough one.” Squatting down to the ground, Creek sweeps an open palm across the ground, noting it’s slightly moisten state. “Looks like he didn’t come out unscathed. . .That idiot.”

Guy Diamond sighs, sinking to his knees alongside Creek to touch the earth and shakes his head. “That idiot,” he repeats with as much fondness. “He’s always been selfless.”

“Pigheaded, obnoxious, arrogant, stupid—”

Guy Diamond lifts an eyebrow. “Are we still on Branch or is this where you’re going through the self-loathing stage?”

“I’m nothing like that ingrate.”

“The others would say differently.”

Creek lifts his head with immense dignity. “That’s a mandatory debate to have once we retrieve our troublesome pair.” He rises, taking Guy Diamond’s hand to aid him up too. “Now, lies the issue in figuring out where they could have gone.”

“Not far. With this much blood loss, Branch can’t have walked too long, and Poppy’s never handled being in mortal danger well.”

“Who would?” Creek scratches through his hair, trying to come up with a logical explanation, but all the possible ones’ end in details he would rather not echo aloud.

“Um, Creek?”

A snort is his automatic reply.

Guy Diamond has lowered himself to the ground, palming slowly over something. At his grim expression, Creek gets a sick vibe in his gut. “They might have had some help. . .”

Help indeed.

How could Creek have missed the rounded footprints neatly decorated by blood splatters.

Creek’s hand clenches. . . Someone has them.

“Enough, Poppy. For the last time, I’m fine.”

Poppy guiltily shuffles her feet. “I just want to make sure you don’t overdo it. Papa Smurf says another day of rest won’t hurt.”

Branch shrugs on his vest, plucking some of the leaves that bent on the opposite direction from the rest. It took a full day of repairing it to its original design, but without the proper materials, he guesstimates it having two, maybe three good wears left. “I’ve been cooped up for four days. Another day is just gonna agitate me more. I need fresh air.”

“We can open a window?”

“We could’ve also dealt with you not talking all night long either, but guess what? We adapted.”

Poppy props a hand on her hip. “You know, you can really take a note from Handy Smurf’s book. He’s not always sarcastic and rude.”

“That’s because we have Passive Aggressive Smurf to do that for us,” Handy kindly offers from outside the window, slamming his hammer across the workbench. “I think you and him will get along great, Branch. He doesn’t get a whole lot of company.”

Branch’s mouth toots to the side. “I’m not all that bad, but I should ask for advice. It seems the further away I run, the more I attract vultures.”

“That sounds like an insult referencing me,” Poppy says from above, hanging over the loft’s wooden railing. Curiosity devoured her inner baby bug last night and she’d taken to exploring what remained of the mushroom’s interior. Now, all she wants to do is live up there. “When I get back home, I’ll make a law mandating all trolls to sing and dance and make merry at least once a week!”

“Better prepare a cell for me when we get back, because there’s no way I can keep up with that quota.”

Poppy dramatically droops her head backwards. “I’ll never be able to make you do anything remotely fun, will I?” She flips her hair downward, fashioning a set of lumpy stairs and marches down with a spring in her stride, unfazed by her hundredth try at ordering Branch to be gay and gleeful. “Can you at least be excited about our new clothes? I’m getting a new dress!”

“Oh yippee,” Branch stalks towards the door. “These Smurfs don’t have any clue what they’re getting into. A dress. Singular? Pfft, hardly.”

Poppy skips alongside him. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Yes, I will.”

“The devil's a lie.”

“I will.”

“As if.”

“Watch me. I will practice self-discipline and only act out if the outfits are as pretty and colorful as my imagination.”

Branch moves forward with an eyeroll and heads out the door. Handy’s already stationed by the mailbox, carving at a block of wood with a pocket blade. It doesn’t have much shape to it yet, still a chipped and shaven disfigured clump. Handy tips his hat off his eyes, smiling.

“Ready to go?”

Poppy bounds over to cuff his arm with hers. “You bet!”

Branch goes to bookend his right, clucking his tongue.

Just as before, while trekking through the village, there came a steadily growing crowd of onlookers. Branch stares ahead ignoring their presence for the most part, but oddly enough, they’re not as intimidated as before and with all the subtlety of a woffabug, they converge closer. Some keep a respectful distance, others pretended to be engrossed with other activities, as if the trolls strolling through the village isn’t all that impressive a sight to stare at. But then, you have that brave handful that causes Branch’s hair to subconsciously teeter and wobble wherever he senses one getting too close for his comforts.

Sure, Branch could have shouted and made snapped to ruin their moment, but he found he didn’t want to. The crowd didn’t give off a threatening pulse, he knew that much; they were like star-struck children incapable of satisfying their intense desire to study the foreign freaks. Heck, if Branch were in their pants/shoes, he’d be spying on them.

Seriously, does everybody here lack the motivation to be distinguished?

“Oh, Branch look there. Is that a bakery, Handy?” Poppy lets go and takes off to examine the quaint shop, smelling of cinnamon rolls, sweet sugars and honey glazed snacks. She squeals and claps. “ _It is_ a bakery. How cute!”

“And look over there!” Poppy’s on the loose and there’s nothing Branch can do except let her expel all this energy or suffer the consequences later. She halts short of colliding into the mushroom stall with dangling knickknacks and trinkets and a table with dozens upon dozens of differently crafted bric-a-bracs. A finger goes into Poppy’s mouth, while considering the items. “I want to take some of these home to the others. Do you think I should take the whole table?”

The Smurf behind the counter sputters, hands wringing. “Urm, pardon me ma’am, not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm for my work, but.” When Poppy looks up at him, the pitiful thing squeaks, flushes and licks his lips. “T-that is to say, well, I mean.” Poppy’s broadening smile leaves the Smurf unfit to speak further.

“She doesn’t mean it,” Branch comes to the Smurf’s aid. It doesn’t help much. The Smurf’s face erupts into a deeper purple. There’s a flicker of something akin to awe in the Smurf’s gaze. Branch takes a cautious step back, snatching Poppy by the collar. “Sorry to bother you.” He pivots on his heel, lugging Poppy along until she starts to walk on her own.

Handy comes to match their pace, hands cupped behind his back. “Nervous?” he muses.

“Extraordinarily freaked is more like it.” Branch erects what he hopes is a scary enough mask for Poppy to realize how close he is to knotting her hair if she runs off again.

It doesn’t work. What on earth made him think it would?. Poppy doesn’t waste a second before she’s gone to tour the mushroom stands, asking questions too fast for the Smurfs to answer and just as the one at the last gift stall is left a sputtering wreck, so were these ones.

Branch is an inch away from calling off this trip and opting to make his own clothes because this is a bit much. No way is this normal.

“They’re not used to foreigners,” Handy offers kindly to the silent question, rubbing a finger under his nose. When Branch side glances him, Handy adds, “And you’re both awful pretty to look at. We haven’t had anyone so fuzzy and charming grace our humble village since Smurfette arrived.”

A small squeak catches Branch’s attention. Poppy appears at his right, then ducks behind him to wedge herself between him and Handy, eyes wide and wondrous. “Smurfette? She doesn’t live here like you guys?”

“She hasn't always.”

“Why?”

“That, um, well,” Handy scratches under his hat, face growing less polite and more agitated. “I’m not allowed to say. It’s not my business. Sorry.”

“That’s OK.” Poppy shrugs. “I’ll ask her the next time we meet up.”

“Actually, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.”

Poppy pauses. So, does Branch. Handy does to, rubbing more at his head. It must be a habit all Smurfs do when they’re perplexed. Branch remembers Hefty doing it a few times when left unable to answer a question.

“It’s a touchy subject,” Handy goes on to say quieter now, eyes shifting as if everyone were within hearing range. “Nobody ever talks about it.”

“Then we won’t either,” Branch vows for both of them, and elbows Poppy in the side when she opens her mouth to likely protest against it. “Right?”

She sighs. “Fine.” Her stride is less peppy and rigid when they follow Handy once more.

She’s back to her old self in no time when the tailor shop comes into view.

It’s beyond Branch’s expectations. It’s the only mushroom Branch has seen to have a blue and white speckled cap with a cream stem base. A wooden sign hangs above the door, swinging with the ominous promise of contradicting patterns and tacky color schemes.

Poppy’s elated scream just then could have shattered glass.

Branch has never seen her run so fast in his life. Her feet were barely touching the ground.

Branch enters with less thrill and hesitates at the entrance upon getting a real eyeful of the interior. His eyes bled and ached from all the wildly arranged motifs. Dresses, suits, pants and shirts and assortments of crazily sown products too dangerous to wear in public, all aligned the walls and hangers and tables scattered across the shop. Branch places a hand over his forehead, suffering some lightheadedness and nauseous.

“You alright, Branch?”

Branch waves Handy away, nodding and gulps back the urge to vomit.

Good God, and Branch used to believe that the twins were rather flamboyant. They’ve got a rival in this guy and his tasteless shop of horrors.

“Tailor?” Handy calls out. “I know he heard the bell ring,” he says, speaking on the bell hanging above the doorway. “Unless he’s in the back creating some new wacky clothing. Goodness knows my fair Smurf can come up with the strangest ideas.”

“Where does he get his inspiration?” Branch waltz deeper into the place, eyeing polka dot pants, rainbow striped tops in a wide range of styles—who wears this stuff? Everybody here is dressed in white!

Branch nervously pinches a pair of pants up with the holes cut out in the back. His mouth flaps open, appalled and he holds them up to Handy, expecting a similar reaction. He’d better be as offended.

Handy shrugs. “I did say he makes the strangest ideas.”

“I prefer _unique_ , darling. There’s no such thing as strange art!”

Branch’s head spins around to find the one responsible for this shop of filth coming around a bin of discarded clothing with Poppy clinging to his arm. The pair look like a match made in gaudy heaven.

“Welcome to my chic-y palace of glory. I’m Tailor Smurf, the only visionary in this village, here to be of assistance.”

Handy laughs softly. “Nothing over the top today, Tailor. Just some regular clothes will do.”

“Perhaps for you, darling, but not these two. Just look at him, look at her.  They’re meant to be modeled!”

Tailor suddenly rushes towards Branch.

Branch already has his fists up to thwart whatever the Smurf intends to do. But they’re smacked away, and Tailor sharply surveys him up and down, tucking a finger under his chin, twisting Branch’s head this way and that, and walks around him, making thoughtful noises. When he pokes Branch’s butt, the troll is officially ready to leave.

“Oh hush,” Tailor says to Branch’s complaints. “I have to assess your body. It’s all colorful and fit and lean. I like that by the way. The only physically trim Smurfs around here are Vanity, Gutsy and Hefty, but Vanity spares me a visit every now and again because he’s the only one who can appreciate my craft. Gutsy tolerates it for my sake, but he only wears that boring kilt and where’s the fun in that?” Tailor then laughs boisterously, rubbing his hands together. “Finally, a challenge. Someone other than blue skin to make clothes for. Gah, I could cry!”

“And you, my sweet darling,” he directs to Poppy, “I shall ravish you in everything my shop has to offer. That pink, by my Smurf, yum, there are so many dresses to make and simply not enough time!”

Poppy’s eyes sparkle. “I want to wear everything!” She bursts into a fit of giggles and hurries to nab Branch, pulling him towards the dressing rooms.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Branch frantically pulls in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, Tailor Smurf is just as eager to make him try on everything and starts him pushing him from behind.

“Oh darling,” Tailor chimes darkly. “Don’t fret. I only craft perfection. Such less and I wouldn’t be named Tailor.”

“But, but, but—”

“No butts, darling. Place your faith in me!” Tailor looks him over hungrily before shoving Branch inside the dressing room. “I’ll have you ready to grace my beloved village in every shade befitting this gorgeous teal.”

Poppy hangs outside, smiling splitting her face in half. “Don’t worry so much, Branch. Tailor is going to take great care of us.”

“Darling of course. Designing clothes is my specialty.” Tailor Smurf grabs the door, sky blue eyes brimming with glee. “Now, don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing, darling. We are going to have a blast.”

The door is closed with an ominous slam. Branch gulps. Why does he get the impression he’s going to regret this?

Perhaps this isn’t the best idea. . .

What had Hefty been thinking, confiding in these idiots about his problems. He would have been better off telling Baby Smurf. At least the kid would have had the decency to pat him on the head, hug him and offer a mud pie to sooth his woes.

These guys don’t have a sensitive none in their bones. Being that they’re considered the few Smurfs who’ll soon earn their colored Phrygian caps, Gutsy, Grouchy and Karate, outside of Painter and Farmer, should be the ones Hefty can trust to give him wisdom and guidance.

But no, what he gets is Gutsy and Grouchy doubled over one another crowing like witches and Karate silently brooding in the corner of Gutsy’s tavern over what he’s learned. Hefty rubs a hand across his face. Each time there’s a break in laughter, all they have to do is see Hefty’s face and start right back up. He’s liable to start a brawl if they don’t clam up soon.

The situation isn’t that hilarious. Hefty sips at his Smurfberry Brewski, lapping the froth from his top lip and bangs his mug on the counter. “Alright guys, yeah, hardy har-har, shut up. It’s not even that funny!”

“Are you kiddin’ me?” Grouchy guffaws hysterically. “I hate you for not telling us sooner that hairy freak socked it to ya good!”

Gutsy scratches at his beard, chuckling. “Aye lad, s’ not like ya to let anybody to get the best of ya.”   

“He didn’t get the better of me,” Hefty says stiffly.

“Then what would ya call it then?”

“Bein’ swept off his feet in the literal sense.” Grouchy breaks into another round of gut bursting laughs. “Brainy said that thing clocked you so hard, you were the first Smurf on the moon!”

Hefty spares a sneer for Grouchy as he comes to level, but most of his attention isn’t on him expressing his hilarity. That much Hefty can look past. Grouchy is a jerk, pure and simple. The deliberate insults towards Branch, not so much.

After all these years of growing up together and learning each other’s body language until it’s second nature, Hefty would have thought Grouchy would recognize the signs of dangerous anger lurking beneath Hefty’s demeanor. The clenching fists, grinding teeth, slanted ears, none of them registered. Or either they were plain as day and Grouchy doesn’t care. He’s just as reckless and smug as Gutsy.

“Oh, I know that look,” taunts Grouchy. “It’s the same face he made when I called Smurfette a wench.”

Hefty’s hands wind tighter. His eyes narrow. “Watch it, _Grouchy Smurf_.”

“Or what _Hefty Smurf_?” Grouchy slips off his stool, marching straight up to Hefty’s face until they’re nosing. “It sure doesn’t take much to get you worked up, huh? A cute face and pretty hair is that’s needed to get that tail wagging. You were the first one sniffin’ after Smurfette when she got here. Now, here you go yet again, nose wide open and hounding this oddball from the woodlands.”

Hefty slams his fist on the table between them. “Stop insulting him!”

“Make me!” Grouchy pounds his fist just as harshly on the counter top in an attempt to intimidate Hefty right back.

Hefty’s on his feet, fist drawn back, and Karate is on him before he can thrust forth. He hikes his arm in a painful arch and squeezes until Hefty loosens his fist.

Grouchy chuckles at his aborted show of force.

“I don’t care what your affiliation with this newcomer is, Hefty Smurf,” Karate starts, slow and cold, “but attacking one of your own in his defense resolves nothing, cures nothing, betters nothing. And you,” Karate directs just as chillingly at Grouchy who has the sense to know when to behave, “just because you’re threatened by these newcomers isn’t cause for insulting them. None of us know anything about them, nor should we assume they’re a danger because of it.”

Karate slowly removes his hold on Hefty’s arm and steps back, eyes fixed firm to his face.

“Leave here, wash off.” He orders, finger jutted towards the door. “You need the water’s purity to dissolve this negative influence. You often say you wear your heart here,” Karate touches Hefty’s tattoo, “yet, you keep your convictions locked in here,” then he lays a hand on Hefty’s chest. “This is where your confusion lies. Figure it out.” And with one shove, guides Hefty towards the door without another word.

Hefty goes, with one lasting glance over his shoulder; where Grouchy is settled on a chair, facing the window, sulking, to Gutsy shaking his head and polishing off a Smurfberry beer and then to Karate who nods at him encouragingly. It helps a bit, having that strip of advice to recite in his head.

But it’s not enough.

Hefty needs more than that. Something else to help him figure out why seeing Poppy and Branch together makes him. . . numb.

“Honestly, Mr. Branch.” Tailor Smurf’s voice is so pained and stressed, that Branch is discerned as someone who kicked a pupa. “If you’d only stand still a minute more, this’ll be over before you know it.”

Branch folds his arms and scowls out the window. His patience is stretched to its limits. He is tired of being primed, tired of being measured and sick to death of having to stand here like a statue. It’s aggravating because he wants is to grab a set of clothes. He wants to be free of this and he wants to see Hefty.

There, after being here for nearly three hours, he can safely admit that yes, he wants to see Hefty and curse him out. This is all his fault, having to suffer through this maniac’s tending and God-awful prancing.

Tailor jabs him in the arm with a pin. Branch yelps and drops his arms at his sides.

“Thank you. You were ruining the plane of your shoulders. Can’t have our outfit fitting all lopsided, can we?”

Branch groans. “How much longer is this gonna take?”

“Oh honestly, Mr. Branch,” Tailor says, and Branch is getting tired of hearing that same line too. “Don’t you want to look handsome? I can make sure you do, but beauty and elegance take time and dedication. You think Vanity and I got this gorgeous overnight? Well, yes, but not everyone is as fortunate.”

Tailor steps back with Poppy at his side and together, the pair scrutinizes over Branch’s attire. Branch hopes, resentfully, that they go blind from trying to concentrate on the coral and yellow sparkly material of the burnishing button up and the dark khaki linen pants., which they deemed acceptable enough for Branch to wear. They catch his evil eye and tick their lips.

“Poppy, darling, however do you put up with this grump?”

Poppy giggles behind a finger. “I get on his bad side just to see how far he’ll go before he explodes.”

“Hmmph, sounds delightful.” Tailor drawls, and shucks his measuring tape from around his neck. A nip here, some tucking there, and while stringing a threaded needle through the shirt’s stitching Branch all but wants to fall over when he glances out and out of the corner of his eye, he sees a motion briskly passing the window.

But those familiar set of broad shoulders and strong stride are impossible to confuse with the other Smurfs because nobody else walks like their pants are too tight like Hefty. He makes to step off the stool, but is yanked back hard. Branch bites his lips until they threaten to bleed. After four whole days of no contact, nothing, Hefty is right there, passing and doesn’t have a clue Branch is there.

Like Hell he is going to miss this chance to give the Smurf a right talking to. Who gave him permission to ignore Branch like he ceased to exist? All because they had a spat? No way.

“Hefty!” Branch shouts.

Said Smurf pauses upon hearing his name. He looks around, checks behind him and the circling brings him to look inside the clothing store. They stare at each other. Hefty’s mouth works, words don’t form. But his eyes are clear as crystal, happy at first, then crinkled in a frown. Branch isn’t sure what to make of it and he doesn’t care because right now, he’s just relieved to see the Smurf turning the knob.

To save Branch from this torture.

To relieve him of this fashion fair abuse.

To—Branch gaps, astounded.

Hefty walks away at a faster pace than before.

“What the?” The troll’s mouth hits the ground. Hefty left. Just like that. So that’s how it’s going to be? He’s going to give the old silent treatment because of a hit that Branch strongly doubts left a mark.

Branch tries to step down again and receives the same harsh treatment—a sharp poke to his butt cheek from behind.

“Branch, darling, will you kindly—”

He'd only turned his face, just slightly, enough to regard the tailor with one glaring blue eye. Whatever he saw there, Tailor Smurf seems to blanch a little, stumbling over his words before settling on a simple answer. 

“J-just a stitch more," Tailor says, his voice empty of all his usual contemptuous bravado. Nimble fingers hastily weave at the cuffs in Branch’s pants. “There now!” Tailor says with a bob of his head that makes the pins in his cap rustle. “See? It never takes an artist long to finish a project if they’re undisturbed. You’re free to go!”

Branch leaps down, snatching off the shirt and pants until he’s left in his tattered vest and shorts. “Poppy stay with Handy until I get back!” He calls on over his shoulder and dashes out the door before she can properly form a coherent request to follow.  No, he doesn’t need her to come. Not this time. Branch needs to talk to Hefty and get the air cleared between them.

Why he’s so dead set on getting this accomplished goes beyond the scope of comprehension for Branch. Normally, if someone wants to ignore him, he can do the same thing without batting an eyelash. Yet, here he is, scouring the village for any signs of the muscular Smurf, asking his carbon copies if they’ve seen him. It’s so stupid to be this desperate and concerned for the fragile companionship they’ve formed over the span of ten days.

His search continues coming up empty. Branch is positive he’s hunted through most of the village, bar actually entering the mushrooms, but something tells him Hefty isn’t in any of them. Or in the village for that matter. But where could he have gone?

“Damn,” he mutters, with a heightened sense of disappointment and annoyance. So, that’s how it’s going to be? Avoid him all because of a scuffle. “Stupid jerk.” Branch kicks at the grass, pocketing his hands.

So be it then. Branch goes to aimlessly strolling, head ducked low and callously scowling. He’s sure he looks less than approachable and that suits him just fine. He doesn’t want to talk. All these twisty, heavy sensations in his gut got him feeling short of discouraged. 

Branch kicks at a rock in his path over and over, following its skidding route. Less mushrooms surrounded him, more forest took up the space for a brief time. The rock parts through a gap in the bushes and he chases after it.

The sound of a running stream or it’s splashing hits his ears as soon as he breaks through the shrubs. ‘ _Maybe. . . Yeah_ ,’ he thinks, relieved and agitated all at once as he changes directions and follows the noise to its source. Hefty isn’t that far out from the village, but still if he needs some time to mope, why not do it around others? Doesn’t that idiot know the chances of being canvassed by a predator or exceptionally high when not around others. How stupid, irresponsible and—

Ignorant.

Branch blinks.

Blinks again.

Well then. “You know what, you’re a real jerk. You heard me calling your name and you just kept right on walking away. And for the record, I had no idea you were doing, uh, this, so don’t think I decided to come all the way out here just to cope a look or anything,” he says it all defensively, fighting mightily against the purplish tint swallowing his face. Branch spins around crossing his arms. “And . . . and how long have you had a tail and where’s all your hair?”

Hefty shoots him a frosty glare. Branch can’t recall having received a look so foul, but he thought those were very logical questions. It’s not like he makes it his daily mission to stare at Smurf butts and gather that, oh, there’s a stubby tail there. And they wear their caps so fitted, how should he know there’s no hair or even the tiniest strands. But that aside, Hefty’s head so bald, Branch could polish it and take it bowling.

But perhaps the frown has less to do with Branch’s inquires and more than likely directed at his unyielding attention at the expanse of exposed blue skin. He’d effectively barged straight out of the bushes and nearly dives headlong into the creek where the Smurf is currently rinsing off. Subconsciously, Branch congratulates himself on not taking in a whole lot of perspective. Such as the shallow water level and how it’s lapping at the dimpled curve of Hefty’s buttocks, and oh dear God, that is not appropriate thinking.

“I’m washin’ off,” Hefty calmly, very slowly punctuates each word to the point where Branch can’t understand his lingo. Hefty turns his back to him to finish cupping water on his arms and rubbing it in. The movement reveals the lean fluency and flex of over a dozen muscles at work just from those simply actions. “The fact that you’re _still_ starin’ is gonna raise some _uncomfortable questions_ , Bro.”

Right, Branch’s positive that’s all his blood filling in his face. The barb’s all too familiar.

Yeah, OK, he deserved that. All the same, he doesn’t feel compelled to be ashamed and stacks his hands behind his head. “Don’t flatter yourself, meathead. I’ve seen better butts. I’d also watch how you talk to me. I had a whole lot of orange juice this morning. There’s no tissue around, so your clothes might have to substitute.”

The look he receives is absolutely foul, but Hefty doesn’t challenge him. Maybe he’s smart enough to not test his chances. The ice is broken, but the tension’s potent. It’s an effort.

Branch strolls off to fold himself into a cross legged sit on the bank of the stream and turns to the side so that he isn’t getting an all-out gander of the butt naked Smurf. Picking up some blades of grass, he rubs them between his fingers, thoughtfully filing through his brain for something to say.

The afternoon’s gorgeous, blending into a breezy day with clouds drifting by and the smell of nature rafting through his nostrils. Branch savors it a moment, then perches his chin on the back of his knuckles, tossing away the grass. Silent seconds crawl into what feels like hours as his mind processes through boring thoughts.

“Don’t you have anything else to do? Read, rest, watch over Poppy?”

Branch lifts his eyebrow at the odd difference in tone towards the end of that question. If it can really be called a question. “Nah, she’s good. Handy can keep an eye on her.” He plucks more grass, peeling them in two. “What’s it to you, anyway? If you really cared about her welfare, you’d be in the village instead of avoiding me.”

“I haven’t. . .” The water splashes to his movement. Branch keeps his face trained on his hands weaving the blades into makeshift knots to prevent glancing up. “I haven’t been avoiding you,” says Hefty. “I just needed some time to myself.”

“Bull crap, you’re dodging me.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Yeah, you are!”

Hefty snorts. Branch huffs. The sound of disrupted water follows some incoherent grumbling and the rustle of clothing. Branch keeps his gaze averted. He mentally counts to a hundred and checks over his shoulder because, why not? He and Hefty are both dudes, which automatically connotes that they carry the same junk between their legs; just Hefty’s is probably bluer and maybe more endowed since he works out a lot—there he goes again thinking those awkwardly flippant thoughts.

Hefty’s sat a good ways away, toweling his hairless head. Branch glances at him and exhales, exasperated with all of this.

And folks are so quick to call him stubborn. They’ve never met Hefty Smurf. He’s got the skill mastered.

Branch’ jaw clenches, but after a small pause, he braces his hand on the ground and pushes himself up. Thinking too much on why they’d turned out like this isn’t going to get them anywhere, and there’s no point in starting another fight. Branch doesn’t want to widen the gap so plainly between them. The whole freaking week has turned to crap in his opinion and yeah, he’s to blame.

He’ll die first before admitting it to anyone else though.

“I know I can be a jerk at times,” he hears himself saying clear as crystal, his eyes landing on Hefty’s vigorously scrubbing. “But you’re not all that innocent either. You’re to blame too, so don’t expect an apology!” It’s about as close as he can muster for a truce.

There’s an astonished quietness far away, as the sound of the towel’s gentle swishing ceases. Setting his jaw tighter, Branch lifts his head heavenward even as his toes curled sediment soil. Then Hefty releases a low breath.

“It would’ve been too much to expect an apology from you anyway,” he replies, tone fraught with vexation. But Branch can deal with that. So long as it isn’t hatred, anger or malice. Everyone’s entitled to sulking every now and again. Most trolls in Troll Village used to have a daily quota for how many times they would get irritated with Branch. So, it’s relieving for Branch that Hefty is speaking to him, as if a knot has finally been unraveled in his chest.   

“Good, because I wouldn’t have offered to give it,” Branch stubbornly folds his arms. “So-so there you go.”

“Whatever,” Hefty says, irritation sinking heavily.

Branch’s mouth twitches. “Fine,” he firmly concedes.

Annoyance piques. “Good to know.”

Oh. He’s trying to have the last word? Branch’s mouth tugs on both ends. “Alright then.”

The towel’s snatched off his head. “Damn it, Branch—!”

It’s all he needs. Branch bends forward, laughing, turning to see Branch practically cracking a bone in his jaw from grinding his teeth so hard. “Don’t bust a blood vessel, dude. Sheesh, have a sense of humor,” he eases to him, ignoring the sky-blue eyes alight with the fire of a shortening fuse.

For a moment, Hefty only glares as Branch draws nigh, and the closer Branch comes, the lesser the glare burns before Hefty’s closing his eyes and snarling out a phrase that softens Branch’s expression.

“Stupid troll.”

Branch’s teeth catch the corner of his mouth as he fights off a widening smile. “Big blue dufus. Come on, gimme the towel. It shouldn’t be all that hard to dry a head with no hair.” Branch pulls the damp cloth from Hefty’s grasp. Pulling it up to examine, it’s the perfect excuse to really take a good hard look at how smooth and completely hair-free the Smurf’s crown is. Not even the tiniest curl exists.

Trolls have hair. It’s a natural part of their anatomy. Up until a couple of weeks ago, Branch assumed all creatures are fuzzy or covered in some kind of hair. But here lies a fine example of something so far out and abnormal, he desires to touch it. It certainly wouldn’t be the boldest thing he’s ever done in his life. So, it seems kind of stupid to pretend he wants to dry off an already dry head.

Branch blows out a short breath, then flicks the towel away, murmuring, “Screw it,” then walks behind the Smurf. “What are you doin’?” Hefty cautiously questions, head twisting to track Branch the whole time.

“Humor me. I’m about to do something detrimental to all guy rules.”

“Such as . . .”

A teal wrist moves into his field of vision and short fingers timidly hang so near the warmth emanates on his bare scalp. Too surprised to protest, Hefty stays still, holding his breath for some reason. If this is some trick to lure him into a false sense of security, Hefty isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold back from lunging Branch in the water. Goodness knows he’s had enough of this emotional rollercoaster the troll has him on.

Branch’s fingers brush like the bat of butterfly wings at a sensitive spot just behind Hefty’s ear and he reflexively leans against them, angling his head back. The hand stalls for the longest. Realizing what he’d done, Hefty straightens, shoving his hands between his thighs and slumps, frozen and stunned by his actions. He didn’t dare look over his shoulder in case Branch is staring at him morbidly.

Hefty’s round ears droop the tiniest bit. “My bad,” he says woodenly. “S’ kinda a sensitive spot back there.” He twiddles his thumbs. “Papa Smurf used to scratch our ears whenever we were sad. It kind of tickles. Don’t worry about dryin’ my head. The sun works just as goo- _o-o-dd-d!”_ Hefty breaks off pathetically as an embarrassing whimper escapes his mouth when Branch experimentally scratches his nails along the curve of the Smurf’s ear. His right leg springs from under him twitching as shivers snake up his spine. His eyelids slid shut, his eyeballs roll back in a pleasant daze. Hefty thinks he hears Branch make a thoughtful nose, but it’s coming through to him as though from deep in a cave.

Branch engages both hands, chuckling softly. “Guess I found your happy spot.”

Hefty hums and murmurs, “Yeah, ya sure did. Feels so good too.” He’s in hog heaven. So entranced by the ministrations to his ears and scalp, Hefty reclines until the back of his head bumps into a fleshy, warm surface. He doesn’t think past how he’d just invaded Branch’s personal space, but if the troll is out of sorts, he’s going to have to be the one to move. Hefty’s too delirious with pleasure to do it himself.

His breathing quickens, swishing past his lips in the barest grunts. The noise he makes next, stiffens Branch’s hands and Hefty’s glad. It was getting a little too intimate. He rights himself, clearing his throat and keeps staring straight ahead, ignoring how cemetery silent it is between them. He picks at the pebbles lining the creek’s shoreline to keep his hands occupied.

The quiet’s impalpable.

Son of a Smurf. . .

       

That’d been really interesting. Educational too, but more interesting.

Hesitating for a moment, Branch shifts his weight from foot to foot indecisively before rediscovering his male-hood and goes to lower himself right next to Hefty.

Specifically, he aimed for the space directly next to Hefty, but he rival’s Clumsy Smurf’s offset equilibrium and he’s all but flattened himself under Hefty’s arm and knows he’s breaching the Smurf’s personal boundaries. “Ah geez!” He blurts out, sucking his teeth and cocks an eyebrow at Hefty’s confused look. “I’m sorry, alright?”

When Hefty merely blinks at him, Branch figures that maybe he’s gone and crossed the line when sitting so invasively. All the same, he doesn’t budge and settles in, or he decides to shift over some because Hefty’s so darn warm, and smells nice, but Branch is stopped when fingers pinch the shell of his ear. Gasping slight, he switches his gaze back to Hefty’s hand, frowning as the fingertips trail the shape of his ear to its tip.

“That’s my ear,” Branch snarkily informs, mouth pushing up in the corner. “All the better to hear things with.”

Eyebrows rise up—so, duh there’s hair on him, just those thin, hardly there dark lines—Hefty meets his gaze with a world of reservations. “I guess so,” he finally says and lets his hand fall away.

OK, then. Branch stretches out his legs and tosses a pebble in the water, the cool soil seeping into the edge of his heel. There’s not as much tension at least. That’s good right?

“And this is for all sorts of stuff, huh?”

Since he was brave enough to skate hands over Hefty’s head, Branch is glad he touches his hair without being coaxed. It’s the first time he’s allowed anyone outside of Poppy and Creek touch his hair. Hope for redemption blossoms inside him and Branch holds fast to letting his happiness show. He keeps looking at the waves in the water instead. “Grabbing, climbing, fighting, making things, yeah, its versatile and fashionable. Kind of makes my ears look smaller too.”

Hefty nods. “That’s all well and good, but what about the rest of your head?”

“Hey!” Branch digs his elbow into the Smurf’s ribs before he realizes he may have gone too far. But aside from a too rough shove that tips him on his back, nothing else happens. Hefty looks a shade amused, eyes sliding off shiftily. Branch shakes his head, feeling so light hearted and glad that he stretches his arms out and stays flat in the grass, unconcerned with how his hair spreads out. He stares up at portions of the sky visible through the thickly leafed trees. Some phantom pains tease his backside, but it’s nothing a good flex and wiggle can’t cure.

Things are better now. So good in fact that he doesn’t freaked when Hefty picks up his foot to examine his toes and kick the Smurf in the head.

“Are you serious,” Branch questions, squirming at the ticklish probing. “Those are my toes. You know, made for walking and kicking butt.”

Glancing up from his inspection, Hefty cocks a brow. “How are you able to walk? Baby Smurf’s feet are bigger.”

“Plenty of practice—would you stop?” Branch nudges the offensive hand away with a chuckle. “That tickles!”

Hefty doesn’t stop. Of course, he doesn’t. In fact, he decides to take Branch’s whole foot in his lap and plucks at his toes with all the curiosity of a child.

No amount control could stop Branch from howling with tremendous laughter, torso wiggling, fingers dragging grooves in the dirt. He laughs, swatting at Hefty’s hands. “Would you quit that? Take me out to dinner first before you start playing footsie.”

“Shut up, I’m just checkin’ out your flat feet. It’s kind of cool.”

“Sure, that’s the real reason.” Branch slaps his hand across his eyes, cracking up. “I swear to God, I’m outta here the minute you start sucking my toes!”

Two blue eyes flash dirtily at Branch before abruptly dropping the foot on the ground. Hefty pushes a sharp vent through his nose. “You can really ruin the moment.”

While Branch thinks over coming up with a decent retort Hefty deigns to join him on the soft grass, following his gaze to the skies. In silence, they stared reflectively up at the cloudy ceiling as though they could map out every solar system woven in the universe.

“Hey?” Branch starts, “sorry I punched you,” he murmurs. He hears Hefty’s head listing to the side and the gears in his head pulsing with doubt at hearing another apology. Branch’s surprising himself too. “I don’t trust others easily. . . still don’t. But I shouldn’t have taken my fears out on you because you were only trying to help. I appreciate the effort. I appreciate everything you’ve done for us.” Branch tips his head to meet Hefty’s wide-eyed expression. It’s cute. Branch shrugs. “What, I can be polite.”

“As a cactus,” Hefty remarks, amused, small smile appearing. He moves to sit up to his elbow, laying his cheek on the back of his hand and leans in to say, “Thanks for apologizin’ all the same. I know it must’ve killed ya to do it.”

“You have no idea. My heart’s all achy and bleeding.” He mocks a wounded heart, thrusting a hand over his eyes, moaning.

His playful gibe is joined by Hefty’s low grumbling and his hand going to lay like a large sheet over Branch’s where it rests across his chest.

Branch stares pensively, expression changing to something unknown. He absently braids his fingers between the other’s hand. The contrast of his blue to Hefty’s is sharp, the sizes and shapes of their hands are very odd. Hefty’s hands are bigger, fingers longer and massively swollen at the tips. Branch’s are shorter, thinner. Somehow, they fit the way a puzzle does.

There’s a noise pounding in Branch’s ears. His heart?  Is that what’s thundering so wildly all because of the profound affection so clear and warm in Hefty’s eyes. It's alluring, see him smile that way. 

Something’s happening. Not sure what, but it’s nice. . . and scary.

“We should probably head back,” he voices, resigned to staying where he is, no real hurry to return to the village.

Hefty squeezes his hand, cushioning his head on his own arm. “The others are probably wondering where we are.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe.”

Hefty smirks.

So, does Branch.

Hefty turns on his back to watch the sky some more. “Later.”  

Branch smiles and allows it to shine through. “Yeah, later.”

Another firm squeeze is applied. Branch caresses the larger hand with his thumb, and contently sighs.

This is. . . nice. Real nice.

 

 

 


	8. Viridian Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for the late update everybody. But we are back on track now. Please enjoy the next chapter. I think you're gonna like this one. Please excuse any mistakes.

**Viridian Blue**

 

Branch must’ve fallen asleep at some point, because between what felt like one blink and the next, the sun’s breached the horizon and more importantly, he feels very warm and snug all over. He releases a long breath through his nose and rolls his face into the crevice of whatever’s wrapped around him.

Something smooth and pliant and firm presses closer, nuzzles at his cheek, radiating so much warmth.

Branch’s fingers curl into the strange surface and sighs. His eyes droopily blink as a blurry blue figure swims into view. The puzzle pieces click into place bit by bit and the finish picture has Branch blanching. He is fused to Hefty’s chest, legs tangled and somehow Hefty’s worked his arm beneath Branch’s head and tugged him so near, Branch’s face is jammed between Hefty’s shoulder and collarbone.

This big blue idiot’s taken Branch’s body hostage, and judging by the possessive grip around Branch’s shoulders and midsection, he isn’t letting go. Moreover, as Branch shifts, a sudden squeeze at a certain part of him has the troll flushing to the tips of his hair.

Somehow, someway, God only knows how it came to be, but Hefty has a greedy, grappling clutch of Branch’s whole right butt cheek.

“Split ends and tangles,” Branch whispers miserably horrified, eyes locked on nothing but muscled neck.

He laid frozen, scared to breath, scared to move. Every sinewy muscle is suctioned to Branch’s front and it’s all he can do not to feel overwhelmed by the sinful thoughts threatening to give rise to a certain part of his anatomy. Then Hefty sleepily shifts, arms tightening and dreamily smiles.

His hand begins squeezing harder.

“Blue, hey?” Nothing.   

His scent washes over Branch in tidal waves, a potent mixture of fresh water, earth and a berry-like musk.

Branch’s eyes flutter from the smell. 

Heart pounding ruthlessly in his chest, Branch fights to suppress a moan. Heavens above, help him. He has to get free. Too much of this is going to cause problems. Namely him keep his hands to stay where they were and not lay them on portions of blue thickness.

Hefty sighs, softly groaning, “ _Mmmm, smurfin’ yeah_ ,” and his hip languidly rotates and moves to fit against the teal knee wedged between his thighs.

That deep voice shoots straight through his chest and out both ears, thrumming like a tuning fork.  

“No, no, no, no.” Branch gasps, and gently pushes at Hefty’s chest, body in flight mode and alarms shrilling in his head.

What fragile friendship developing between them is about to get seriously wrecked. Branch doesn’t want to lay hands on the Smurf, but blessed be, it’s damn near too tempting to pass up. He can’t do that to him though. Hefty’s too kind and caring and sickeningly noble.

Hefty sighs, head drifting and falling into the fold of Branch’s shoulder and jaw. As he does, Branch tries then to pull out of his hold, but Hefty’s grip becomes a claw around his butt and tightens. Then his thigh slides up and covers a rising throb in Branch’s britches.

“Oh my God,” Branch whimpers around a mouth full of fist.

This _cannot_ be happening.

Then the worse possible scenario turns into reality.

Hefty’s mouth lays to Branch’s neck and the breaths he releases leave behind a balmy moisture.

“Hefty,” Branch smacks at his chest harder. No way can he stand being like this much longer. He can’t even shut his legs to keep from humping the stupid Smurf’s leg. “Hefty, c’mon.”

Hefty moves alright. He rolls on top of Branch and hugs him into his body.

Every single strand on Branch’s hair changes through a flurry of colors, ranging from red, purple, green and pink before settling into a near blinding rose. They gather into a darkening blue braided rope, lasso at the blossoming tip and Branch sways it to gain momentum, then uses it to latch onto a low hanging tree limb. When he grasps it, he succeeds in pulling himself half way free.

The massive loss of weight, finally, finally disturbs Hefty’s slumber and he drowsily glances around his surroundings. Branch simply lays there, staring helplessly at the star-peppering sky.

The Smurf finds Branch below him, gazing down with an unreadable, lost expression, seeming trapped before sleep and awakening. But he’s so close and he’s oozing so much body heat, even if he is being silent and strange, it has Branch’s stomach constricting.

“Branch.” Hefty reaches down towards him, letting his fingers brush the curvature of his jawline, the smooth plane of his cheek and over the lines making up his face. Just a light brush of his fingers; it’d take less than a twitch for the troll to turn himself out of range of that tender touch.

Branch doesn’t. But the motion has him riveting inside and he blinks slowly to shake off the fuzziness. But refocusing his sights on Hefty’s face nearly becomes Branch’s undoing. There’s a vortex of light, an almost radiant blue, as they stared down at him. Like the Smurf has discovered something impossible to exist, something confusing and tangled up and none of it matters, not a single thing because it’s right here in front of him.

Branch knows he’s drowning in that gaze.

The silence is impenetrable; a long and drawn out painful thing. Branch feels hypnotized, breathing and trying to staunch the sudden panic of ‘ _what on earth is Hefty doing’_ that was rising in the ache of his throat.

He’s coming closer. Their breath is humid between them.  

Branch freaks. With all of his might, he digs deep and wraps his hair around Hefty’s midsection. He’s tossed, more like hurls him, away. Branch melts into the grass with the release of tension, ignoring Hefty’s outrage.  

“What was that for?” he snaps, shooting up to his feet. “Branch—”

“Shut up!” Branch hotly retorts. He gets up on wobbly knees, breaths readily coming in an unsteady pattern. “Just shut up and stay over there!”

Hefty has the audacity to look hurt. Branch almost gives into apologizing until he remembers he’s the true victim here.

“Uh, did I do something wrong?”

Yeah, there it is. That good ole fashion dose of guilt pickling in Branch’s gut. “No, no. I just, I freak out when I wake up in unfamiliar places. You startled me is all.” He rubs between his eyes. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Hefty chuckles, shimming his hat into place. “It’s alright. It didn’t hurt. So, uh,” he looks around with clearer eyes, “guess we fell asleep?”

“That’s the jest of it.”

“I wonder if anybody’s noticed.”

Branch sighs. Poppy’s noticed. She’ll know if he’s gone longer then three seconds.

“You feelin’ alright?”

A heavy clap lands on Branch’s shoulder. He starts, then relaxes. He hadn’t heard Hefty move so close to him. He shrugs his hand away, rubbing his arms. “Yeah, I’m good. Let’s head back. Poppy’s probably ripped the village to ribbons.” He starts walking ahead, not bothering to wait for Hefty to catch up.

 

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

Hefty's lips compresses into a thin line.

Poppy again. It always boils down to what she wants. What she'll do. What she needs. If he isn’t entirely certain of it before, this pretty much confirms what he’s inwardly guessed.

They’re either together or crossing the borderlines of a relationship. No other way to prove it. Who else, but a couple, would worry so much about each other and constantly need to be around one another. Not even he and Smurfette would go to such lengths to be in the other’s company so consistently.

It burns Hefty’s stomach and he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that he’s jealous. There, yeah, if he can’t build up the guts to admit it to anyone else, he can at least confess it to himself. It shouldn’t be this way. He has no designs over Branch and never should have foolishly given himself the silly illusions of there ever being a friendship.

Friendship.  

Who is Hefty trying to kid? Only himself. Friendship? A funny way to spell. . . No, maybe not the L word, but he knows it’s dangerously treading in that direction and if he doesn’t get a lock on it soon, he’ll fall. . . and keep falling. . . without a chance of being caught by Branch’s hands.

With a slump in his shoulders, Hefty kicks at the grass before trekking after Branch.

It’s for the best he does. No telling whether he can keep his hands to himself.

The trip back to the village is uneventful, stacked with bricks of tension and undeniable that the pair want to say something. Branch stayed hugging his torso and purposely took faster steps whenever Hefty met his pace. It’d taken five tries to walk alongside Branch before Hefty stamps his foot and the effect works. Only, he hadn’t meant to put so much pressure behind that motion.

He accidentally left behind a sizable dimple into the earth.

“So, you’re really gonna act like that didn’t happen back there?” Hefty jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

Branch stiffens to a halt, hair going ramrod straight. “W-what?”

“Oh, right, you’ll say that it’s my imagination playing tricks on me, right? I couldn’t possibly have felt a spark or-or something like that.”

“What are you talking about? What spark?” The ill attempt to come off ignorant angers Hefty further.

“Forget it.” Hefty marches straight pass him.

Branch too stomps his foot, then quickens to cut the Smurf off. “What exactly do you want me to say? Oh, let’s see what’s there and figure it out together? That wasn’t a moment, that was perversity!”

“I guess if I’d been pink and cute and hyperactive, that’d be a total pass, yeah?”

Branch narrows his eyes. “Watch it. She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“What _‘this’?_ According to you, there’s nothin’ going on except me tryin’ to cope a feel!”

“That’s what it looked like from my angle!”

Hefty’s mouth screws into a sneer. “Is that what you think I want from you? All I’ve ever done is try to get on your good graces. But no, that’s damn near impossible. For smurfin’ out loud, why does it always gotta be a trial with you?”

“I’m the difficult one? You’re the one who’s always following me!”

“Get real, you dumb troll!” Hefty shoves his nose into Branch’s face, towering over him like his anger. “I kept to myself and didn’t bother to come after you anymore. Who’s the one who broke that routine for whatever reason?”

“I wanted to apologize for hitting you and . . .” Branch abruptly pauses as the rest of his sentence dies away.

“And what?” Hefty urges with less heat in his tone. “What else?”

“Nothing.”

“For Smurf’s sake,” Hefty growls, taking a step forward. There’s no more space to take up between them, but Branch doesn’t back down and keeps the suffocating crowding. Seeing this, Hefty sighs and leans away, shaking his head. “What have I done to make you not trust me?”

“N-nothing.”

“Then tell me something, Branch.” Hefty’s voice pitifully sinks. He takes a chance and reaches down to intertwine their fingers. Branch tugs lightly and Hefty loosens his grip, but doesn’t let go. “I left you alone because I thought that was what you wanted. You came after me. Why?”

“Hefty—”

“Did someone put you up to this?” Hefty squeezes their joined hands. “Are you pushing me away because they’re makin’ you?”

Branch shakes his head. “Nothing like that either.” His cheeks color.

A faint hope rises in Hefty’s chest. “Then,” he swallows and offers a small smile and a reasonable explanation, “maybe you’re as confused as me?”

A rough snort. “You _definitely_ know what you want.” He blinks. “And know what you’re after. Your hands were all over me.”

“I was fast asleep!”

“You had your whole hand on my butt.”

“In my defense, I thought it was a pillow.”

“So, you keep your pillows between your legs? That’s a fun fact to tuck away about you.”

Hefty smirks saucily. “So? I learned that you got a thing for snugglin’ in your sleep.”

“Shut up, dummy.” He quiets, then amusingly adds, “I thought you were a pillow.”

They share in a nice laugh. It’s a gracious break from the arguing. Hefty’s glad for it. But it’s the silence after that he worries about. He’s, more or less, revealed to Branch some of what he feels and, maybe it came out jumbled, but the sentiments are easy to read between the lines.

“How are you recovering?” Hefty tries, inwardly needing to piece back the bridge between them. “Your arm and back good?”

Branch nods shortly, stepping back to illustrate his body’s flexibility by flexing his bicep and turning his back to the Smurf, shucking his vest. “See, almost as good as new?”

**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**

 

Long, stubby fingers grip Branch’s shoulders, scaring him out of the calm, cool demeanor, erected after their fight. Just like that, Hefty manages to shatter it and Branch is left on edge because of it.

“What are you doing?” he yelps, going rigid. “At least warn me before you get all touchy-feely—”

“I wanna see for myself,” Hefty smoothly interrupts. “We weren’t on good terms for me to come checkin’ on you before. I’m making up for it now.”

Branch rolls his eyes. “Didn’t we just have this discussion about molesting the unwilling?” The hands squeeze at his shoulders, displaying the Smurf’s disdain at being labeled a pervert.

Hefty doesn’t reply immediately, instead continuing his inspection. He goes along the flat plane of Branch’s back, ghosting across his shoulder blades and up to the nape of his neck. Branch bears it to pacify the Smurf’s worry and his effort to apologize in his own way. That’s what all this attention is really for, the troll thinks funnily, eyes slipping close as cool fingertips explored his skin.

“Like I said, all better now,” Branch replies, ducking his head slightly away from the careful touch. Hefty just skates his palms across the curve of Branch’s shoulders and down both his arms, chin coming to rest on the troll’s shoulder he takes his wrists in a loose grip.

“Lemme see your arm too.” The oversized hands cuff airily around the thinnest part of Branch’s arms and drags them gently upward until the swell in Branch’s biceps fill Hefty’s palms. He’s left grumbling a sigh and allows the treatment to go on.

The teeth dents and lacerations are well on their way to being completely healed; the once-raw gashes digging in his arms now shined a discolored blue from the rest of his flesh. But it’s healing and will blend with the rest of him someday. So will the scars on his back, but their marks won’t disappear. Hefty lets out a long breath through his nose and sweeps his fingertips along the long scratches too. It doesn’t hurt. Branch takes the opportunity to tilt his head and bumps it gently against the Smurf’s.

“You wanna check my teeth for cavities, next?” The troll says with a grump. “Don’t coddle me, Hefty, or I’ll punch you again. I’m fine. You know I am.”

“I know.”

Branch blinks. “Then what—”

“An excuse, I guess.”

“For?” Branch asks, baffled. Then on the heels of his exclamation, he understands. “You wanted to touch me again?”

“Umm. . .”

A sense of profound embarrassment warred with wonder inside the troll at that forward admission. “Well, then,” silence, then, “you can. Why make such a big deal out of it?”

Stilling at that, Hefty doesn't reply immediately, instead turning his face enough that his nose brushed Branch’s jaw.

"So, you don’t hit me again." His breath was warm against the troll's neck, and the rush of it prickles goosebumps across his skin. Branch's thoughts scattered.

"You already touched me at the creek," he says, turning his head towards Hefty. "Why do you need permission now?”

“Because you tend to jump to weird conclusions. Really, Bro, I journeyed through a treacherous forest to find you, survived a week in the middle of nowhere, risked my neck to save your skin from Azrael and brought you to my village. My _very secret_ village. What does that you tell?”

“That you have all the traits of a qualified stalker.”

“Don’t be weird.”

“You don’t be weird.”

Hefty laughs softly. “You’re about as clueless as Clueless Smurf. How many more clues I gotta toss out there for you to get the hint? Nothing inappropriate is gonna happen between us. . .”

His beefy arms encircle Branch’s waist and he tugs back. There’s not much more that he could have done. Branch had been leaning into Hefty’s weight the whole time anyway.

“Unless,” there’s deliberate heat surrounding the hesitation breathing down Branch’s neck, “you want it to?”

Branch has to smirk teasingly at that. “Nice try. We both know it’s _you_ who can’t keep your hands off _me_.”

Something is dawning on Hefty's face, and it looks a lot like embarrassment. "Well, I . . . I don’t mean—"

Branch jumps out of reach when he hears voices coming. One of them is unmistakable. Poppy appears bounding down the path with Smurfette in tow, dragging her with pink hair coiled around one wrist and, bouncing and singing and bumping her hips to Smurfette’s.

_~Yo, I’ll tell you want I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want, what you really, really want. I’ll tell you want I want, what I really, really want. So tell me what you want, what you really, really want~_

“I really want you to keep it down!” Branch marches to her, shaking his head. “Must you be so loud all the time?”

“Why shouldn’t I be? I have all the reasons in world to be happy!” Poppy hugs Smurfette to her side. “Look at us. We have matching dresses, see? Except, mine is more like a halter top and Tailor Smurf says the red ribbon adds some zest, but they’re both white and look dazzling on both of us!” She twirls Smurfette with one hand, then dips her low.

Smurfette comes up, giggling. “She insisted Tailor Smurf give us matching dresses. But hers is so much prettier.”

“Are you kidding? No way. I love yours. It makes your hair look so soft and shiny like the sun.” Poppy blinks, then grins, sucking in air.

Branch slaps a hand over her mouth. “If you sing, You’re My Sunshine in the middle of the _evening_ , I will never forgive you.”

Poppy’s eyes crinkle mischievously. She nods. Branch reluctantly removes his hand.

“It doesn’t look all that bad on you.” Branch taps a finger to his chin. “Gimme a show.”

Poppy squeals at the chance to model her new outfit and does just that, gliding to the tip of her toes to perform a pirouette so the pleated ends flap and fritter around her legs. “I’m gorgeous, aren’t I?”

Branch whistles wolfishly. “Keep that up and I won’t be able to resist.”

“Like you can’t already,” she giggles and leaps into his arms. “Go ahead, try to keep your hands off me!”

Branch makes show of keeping his arms at his sides. “Done.”

The rush of blue passing him comes so strong, Branch is nearly knocked off his feet. All he sees is Hefty’s backside stomping towards Smurfette and Smurfette looking disgruntled.

“Let’s go,” Hefty barks, walking without a glance back.

Smurfette hesitates, rubbing one arm, looking so torn and sad. 

Poppy slips away from Branch, hand outstretched. “Smurfette?”

Eyes shut and pained, she turns to hurry after Hefty.

“Hefty!” Branch calls out, but receives a cold huff. “What’s his problem?” He thought they were finally reaching good terms. Now, this sudden rejection?

Poppy somberly slinks two steps away. “I thought we were getting along great. We shared cake and tea and talked all day. . . What happened?”

Branch notices the air around him is colder than before. “I wish I knew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: Even if I don't list the songs used this story, I DO NOT OWN any of them.


	9. Blooming Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY BACK ON TRACK. For real this time, there won't be as wide a gap in the updates as before. I think you're going to enjoy this chapter. Please enjoy and excuse any mistakes!

**Blooming Blue**

 

Branch straightens out his arm, staring at the ceiling. He hisses through clenched teeth as he repeats the motion, and hisses once more as he does.

Repeatedly, again and again and again. That is the whole point of physical therapy, after all. You’re tasked to keep doing it whether you want to or not and it has to keep happening no matter how much pain it causes you, and it continues until you want to scream at someone, but you never scream at the friends who want the best for you, or the others kind enough to lead their help, evening pushing themselves beyond their professional knowledge to do so.

At last, Branch reaches his limit for this exercise and sags into his chair, limp and panting and looks down at his unbandaged arm. He still flinches from the sight of it, but it’ll never get used to living with it if he went on struggling.

The skin is regaining its healthy color and fits near his wrist, elbow and shoulder. Then it seems to indent and slightly rip apart, scars like the widening wake of a boat gather and break in between the space of his bicep, and triceps, growing broader and uglier the more it curves under his armpit. It looks like someone tried to snatch the limb clean off, though that isn’t too far from the truth. Doubtless, if he’d been stuck in that cat’s jowls a few moments more, that’s exactly what would have happened.

That doesn’t mean Branch isn’t suffering from the aftermath. Sporadic instances happen where the muscles in his arm spasm and catch into a knot. He won’t be able to make it back home without full mobility of his body and only when he can manage to walk, jump and utilize his hair without gasping and becoming short of breath.

Branch grinds his teeth. He will complete these sessions, gain back his full strength and work his damnest to make sure he and Poppy make it back to the village safely. Now, more than ever, has he been desiring to return to the Troll Tree. Nothing appeases him about being stuck here anymore. Especially since the other day.

If there’d been a signal to decide it’s time to hit the road, it was Hefty’s dismissal of him like—like what what’s going on between them isn’t something at all. Like—like that silly touching and sleeping on Branch was a casual incident. Which isn’t fair.

Branch had gotten around to admitting that Hefty’s touch wasn’t all that unpleasant. In fact, he kind of liked it. And looks forward to it happening again.

Not that there will be a second or third time. It’s as if as soon as Hefty sees Smurfette, all reality and surrounding company are thrust into the backburner.  Branch knows he gets that way whenever Poppy comes around, but not to the point where he completely disregards Hefty all together. . .

Right?

 

Branch heaves himself off his chair, ignoring the stretch in his backside and the protest of his arm and drags his seat to stare out the window. He hasn’t felt up to leaving the mushroom today, not in the mood to interact with anyone. Not even Poppy. Especially Poppy. He isn’t sure he can handle her energy today. He would’ve taken up to reading, but it’s all about Smurfs and he’s about had enough to seeing the blue skinned sentients for a life.

No thanks to that arrogant, insensitive, stupid, egotistical jerk, Hefty Smurf.

Branch huffs.

So, what happened back there by the creek, that had been, what, a spur of the moment thing? Nothing to be examined outside of curiosity?  Because if it was nothing, then Branch can treat it like nothing and move pass feeling these squirming sensations in his gut. Hefty’s touch has a knack for triggering the weirdest feelings.

Like in his chest, those frenetic ripples tap dancing on his ribcage. Then there’s the combined prickle and burning where his skin tinkles in all the places Hefty touched him. His shoulders especially carry a residue spark often brought out into a mild tickle whenever Branch stroked a finger here.

Branch isn’t sure he’s becoming addicted and if so, should punch the Smurf again for making him feel like this.

“Tea time!”

That’s become Poppy’s daily afternoon mantra every time they stayed indoors, or at least whenever Handy Smurf is generous to bring them a share of whatever Chef Smurf’s whipped up for lunch. It isn’t always a tray of tea and crumpets. Once, it’d been neatly squared and triangular cut sandwiches with Smurfberry juice—to which Branch finds the taste of the berries sort of sugary with a crisp sour aftertaste. Today, Poppy’s balancing a wide wooden tray using two locks of hair woven through the handles and the teapot tittering dangerously in her hands with two tea cups dangling off her pinkie fingers.

Branch grins despite not feeling in a smiling mood.  Nobody sets him in a state of incredulity better than Poppy because, seriously, why does she always choose the worse course of action when it comes to doing the simplest things?

“Here, let me.” Branch grunts and hauls himself to his feet, having to using his less dominant hand so the stress from the other doesn’t shoot up his back as it’s done lately. He stretches thick threads of his hair out, intertwining through the pink hairs holding the tray and gently loosens the hold until he feels the weight shift into his grasp. “Smells like strawberry tea this time. Cucumber sandwiches and salmon sandwiches and some weird, brown, crispy, flaky—yeah, I’m not eating this.”

“You have to, sorry. I already told Chef we’ll lick the plate clean.” Poppy flops in the opposite chair with a dramatic huff, fanning herself. Her eyes follow him to setting their meal on the table and pulling up his chair to the other end. She stays staring until he comments how rude it is. “You’re being chivalrous.”

He swallows a sandwich cube and wipes his mouth with a napkin rather than his hand. Poppy would scowl at him until his face seared off if he used his hand.  “I’m always chivalrous.”

“Not always. You’re being polite and even smiled.” Poppy shoots to her feet in her chair and braces her hands on the table to lean as close to Branch’s face as she can. “You’re being majorly creepy, dude.”

Branch ignores her until he’s popped on the forehead, but besides a lasting sneer, nothing happens.

“See?” she lands in her chair, arms folded tight. “Tell me what’s wrong. You have until the count of three before I start singing.”

“Pfft, so, have at it.” Branch could care less. He’ll tolerate her antics until she gets tired and finds something else to occupy her time.

Poppy smirks devilishly. “You really want to test who’s got a stronger will?”

“Sweetie, you’re talkin’ to the troll who’s survived your temper tantrums, sugar rushes and every imaginable health hazard you’ve put us through.” When he finishes thumbing off the list, he has another bite of food and sips from his tea. “Let’s not make me the topic of discussion today. There’s a whole bunch of other interesting things we can talk about.”

“But it’s nowhere near as interesting as knowing why you’re in a foul mood. More so than usual for you,” she snippily adds. “I mean, you helped me carry in the food. A happy Branch would have been content to watch me make a fool of myself.”

“I’m hungry.”

“And extra moody.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Poppy—”

“—Branch.”

Branch clicks his teacup in the saucer and meets her gaze evenly. Poppy narrows her eyes in turn, reaching that impeccable level of rebellious determination she’s renowned for. He looks away before she can search too deep.  “I don’t feel like having a heart to heart with my gal pal. It’s nothing worth mentioning anyway.”

“It has to be something,” she says. “You don’t go all quiet and nice unless you’re thinking about something big and bothersome.” She plucks a triangle sandwich bit and pops it in her mouth. “So,” she swallows, “it’s either something or someone who’s got you in a funk. And you know what, I’m betting it’s a certain some-smurf.”

Branch tenses from shoulder to hair root.

Poppy’s eyes squint as thin as a leaf. “Back when I found you and Hefty in the forest, did something. . .” she trails off for him to finish and patiently taps a finger over the table.

“. . . nothing happened,” Branch eventually grumbles after several tense moments pass. His ears droop, hair strings peeling off his stalk until they surrounded half his face. Branch angrily smacks it off and smooths them back up. He sinks in his chair, mouth screwed in a pout and looks out the window. “He obviously doesn’t think it’s worth talking about. So, I feel the same way.”

“I see.”

Branch looks over in time to catch a glimpse of an expression disappearing from Poppy’s face. He isn’t sure of it, but it worries him. He sits up, and reaches over to trap her hand beneath his until the taping finger slows to a stop. “Poppy. . . please don’t. I’m fine.”

“I just want to talk to him.”

“No,” Branch deadpans.

“Why?”

Branch shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s stupid. A big misunderstanding. I see that now.”

Silence comes after his statement like a permafrost evening. She smiles wide and it’s painfully strained. “I’m going to get some fresh air.” When he doesn’t let go, Poppy snatches at her hand until Branch releases to keep from springing her wrist. She pushes from the table and leaves the room with rigidity stride.

Branch blinks after her and sighs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.  He should go after her. It isn’t any of her business, but he can’t muster up the strength to go. A part of him feels it’s justified. Another part of him really hopes Hefty can live without his ears.

Poppy’s going to give him an earful. Branch just knows it.

_. . . Still. . ._

Branch prefers Hefty with all his body parts.

A flush covers the troll’s face when he shoots out of the mushroom to catch up with his best friend before someone gets hurt.

The crowd’s more than doubled since this morning. Grouchy Smurf’s taken to gathering smurfberry bets on Hefty’s performance.

Hefty ignores it all and intensely focuses on reaching—

“. . . nine hundred and ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six. . .,” whispers one of the Smurfs in the back, tucked behind a bush. A good sum of them were poorly camouflaged by the tall grass and shrubbery. Half a dozen watched in the trees. The remaining few didn’t bother hiding and watched in the open.

“That’s a thousand,” murmurs another worriedly. “Should some-smurf get Papa? This can’t be healthy.”

Hefty rolls up ten more repetitions. So long as his muscles screamed, and the pain remains, he won’t stop until he’s numb all over. Anything to dissolve the ache in his chest. No way an agony like this should exist. It’s more than dread, more than a sickness. It’s so much worse and Hefty refuses to admit that he’s feeling so damn crushed and regretful and stupidly aware of how much he’s considering something that’s nothing!

Branch doesn’t feel the same way.

Hefty doesn’t either. 

What happened by the creek is anything to ponder over. Nothing, nothing, nothing. Anyone can get caught up in being affectionate and understanding and beautiful under moonlight. Touching Branch is a fetish he finally got out of his system. Hearing him sing again is not likely to ever happen again. Hefty’s gotten his fill of Branch and that’s the end of it.

Branch doesn’t want him nor will he ever.

Hefty refuses to play second fiddle. He deserves better. Branch doesn’t care.

Why can't he get over that hurdle of despair then?

His chest begins to burn, his abs scrunch and protest and vow to severely cramp. Hefty surges through the grappling pain and falls instead to anger. He’s never known an agony could be real because he didn’t think he could. . . he could ever feel like this for anybody.

_Branch._

Hefty’s breathless grunts hiss out, teeth gnawing on his bottom lip until it bleeds.

_Branch._

His stomach muscles shudder and twines like a knot.

_Branch._

It all hurts. Everything burns. Hefty yowls and snarls through the drowning strain and wavers. His arms are the heavy and the bend of his knees can’t support his weight much longer. Hefty digs deep to continue thrusting his body up and down, up and down.

_Branch._

It’s not enough. Why isn’t it working? So many times, a workout would cure him of his troubles, help him to sweat out his problems, but it isn’t working now. Branch won’t leave his mind, won’t stop plaguing his brain. That stupid troll is stuck in his brain.

Heft’s lip curls over grinding teeth. For the troll to have this kind of power over Hefty’s thoughts should be criminal.

Hefty winces mid-curl up, heaving short breaths through his nostrils and falls back. A cramp promises to come. It’ll sink in and tear his innards the way a certain troll’s managed to rip a way into his system.

Lungs gasping, screaming for relief, Hefty ignores the sharp jabs buckling beneath his skin and struggles to roll his torso to meet his knees. The sudden stab in his gut is immense, a rich spasm staggering through his chest and throughout his entire torso.

But he doesn’t whimper or cry out upon collapsing on the ground with a thunderous thud. Hefty does ball into a tight circle, cradling the harrowing contractions. It’ll take a while, five or ten minutes at the most, for his body to rejuvenate itself. But the process is a racking experience. Whatever pain exuded on you is used with as much intensity to replace or fix whatever’s ailing.

That’s all well and good for his body.

_Branch._

The same thing won’t work for his head. . . or his heart.

Hefty lists half over to the sound of murmuring overhead. He sighs, long and dusty, peering through the afternoon sunshine at the dozens of blue faces and wide worried eyes gazing down at him.

He looks a sight, skin such a deep purple, seeming as if every drop of blood’s boiled to the surface beneath his skin.

He sharply grunts, squinting per throb in his temple. “How many?” he calls out to any-smurf.

Smurfette’s face swims into view. “One thousand twenty-eight,” and adds in a bemused face, “you shattered every record in Smurf History.” Her smile lessens to a frown. Hefty doesn’t like that look. “Did it help?”

She knows him so well. Hefty doesn’t answer right away and that’s enough for her.

“Oh Hefty.”

Hefty narrows his eyes. “That had better not be pity I hear.”

Smurfette reaches out to frame the side of Hefty’s head with her hand. “Why don’t you talk to him?”

Hefty closes his eyes. Even his eyelids feel like they’ve been through a grinder. “There’s no point.”

“How do you know?”

“’Cause there’s nothing to say.” Hefty turns flat on his chest and braces his hands shoulder-width apart, then presses down to drive up and slowly falls low. He squeezes out ten push-ups and rises. When he opens his eyes, he’s met with a bank of Smurfs watching him from every direction. He glares. “Show’s over ya bunch of Nosey Smurfs!” he snaps.

“Well, I never!” Hefty hears Vanity Smurf grouch before stomping off. The rest of them hastily scatter like a butterfly swarm.

“You can’t blame everyone from worrying, Hefty.” Smurfette sits next to him. “The last time we saw you exercise this much was when Papa Smurf got sick.”

Hefty crosses his legs, propping his chin on the back of his knuckles, glaring straight ahead. “It’s hardly the same.”

“It’s OK if you’re in love with Branch—”

Hefty’s sure his face will melt off. “I am _not_ in love with him!”

Smurfette dully lowers her eyes. “Fine, some unidentifiable strong emotion that only occurs when you think about him.”

Hefty rolls his eyes. “What does it matter anyway if I do have feelings for him?” he mutely confesses. “I can’t have him.”

“Why not?”

Hefty grits his teeth. “Because. . .” he quiets, and whispers, “he’s in love with Poppy.” He feels as much as hears Smurfette’s gasp. Her hand lands on his shoulder, a cool compress to his flushed skin.

“Are you sure?” Smurfette softly wonders. “Maybe they’re really close friends like us.”

“We don’t do the the same stuff as them.”

“Like what? Show affection, hug, dance, sing, kiss?”

Hefty’s cheeks color brighter. “That’s all platonic!”

“So might theirs.”

“You don’t get it Smurfette.” Hefty climbs to his feet to pace. “You’ve never noticed how he looks at her. Like-like she’s the most important thing in the world. And whenever he’s around, she’s all happy and cheery and bubbly and full of life. No way a friend causes that kind of reaction out of someone.”

Smurfette pulls her knees to her chest, a frown pinching at her delicate features. She licks her lips. “You’re sure?”

Hefty pivots one last time. “It’s pretty hard to miss.”  He fixes her with a strange look, eyes shift, and a look of bewilderment etches on his face. “Smurfette. . . Oh, Smurfette, I-I didn’t know that you. . .”

Her fingers fiddle with a string on her dress.

“Ah, sweetie.” Hefty’s sickened with himself for never realizing this may be as effective on his friend as himself. He holds out his hand. She grasps it and lets him pull her up and she walks straight into his arms. She cozies into his chest. He squeezes her close. “How and when?”

“I dunno,” she whines. “It hit me so fast. I barely know anything about her, all I know is I love to look at her, hear her voice, be around her.”

Hefty sighs. “Guess that isn’t too far off the mark for me either.” He leans away to cup her cheek with his hand for a moment. Smurfette half turns towards it, appearing so lost in a sweetness she can’t have. He presses their foreheads together and rubs their noses.

“Branch is nuts if he can’t see you for the awesome Smurf you are, Hefty,” Smurfette quietly says.

Hefty chuckles and pinches her cheek. “Poppy’s blind if she can’t see you for the amazing knockout you are.”  

They part, but Hefty loosely keeps his arms around Smurfette’s middle, offering a warm smile. “Don’t you ever wonder. . .”

“. . . if we had. . .”

Then the two shook their heads and voice a loud, “Nahhhh!” Then playfully embraced again, adding head ruffles and laughter in the mix. Smurfette kisses the top of Hefty’s cheek, dissolving the pair into a tickle fight.

Smurfette is all mirth and cheer for a moment, then she’s off Hefty as if the feel of him suddenly burns. The lost weight causes him to stumble off balance and he turns to ask what that’s about until he looks between the gapping bushes and sees two pairs of eyes staring directly at them. But even if Hefty couldn’t interpret Branch’s expression, the irritation on Poppy’s face is all too clear.

“Hope we didn’t interrupt anything.”

Branch switches his frown between them, trying hard to root and twist the conceptions of what’s in front of him.

Then his expression curves down. Discovering this shouldn’t be as upsetting as it is.  

Poppy stamps her foot on the ground. “So, this is why you didn’t meet me for brunch yesterday? You should have told me!” she says to Smurfette. “We could have postponed it until later or rescheduled.” She folds her arms and pouts. “Some friend.”

Hefty steps forward. “Now hold on—”

Poppy jabs a finger in his direction. “You and me have business, Mister!”

“Poppy, don’t—” Branch tries only to be cut off with a palm of hair in the face.

“Nope, this is happening whether you want it to or not. I’m going to get to the bottom of this so we can get on with our lives.” And with that said, she marches straight up to Hefty, wedging a wider gap between him and Smurfette. “Smurfette, be a love and stand over there. Way, way, way, over there.” She flicks her wrist until Smurfette’s out of earshot. “Thanks hun!”

All at once, massive hunks of bright pink hair assemble in a flat, circular surface, rises high and melts into a vast, encompassing barrier.  By now, Hefty thought he’d be accustomed to the versatility of troll hair. Actually seeing it prove him right over and over again fascinates him to no end. He tips his head back to mentally measure the size of it. He can stretch out his arms and legs and rises to his tip toes. The tip of his hair doesn’t even graze the top.

Then a dangling curl of glowing red light illuminates the slightly dark enclosure.

“We need to talk,” Poppy softly says, all cutting edge smoothed away.

Hefty lifts an eyebrow. “Is this gonna be one of those ‘ _girlfriend please’_ chats?” he asks, gazing again at their private domain. “Can they hear us?”

“Nope, and I want to talk to you about Branch.”

Hefty bends towards her. “What about him?”

She leans just as close. “I want to know what he means to you.”

That—that hadn’t been what he was expecting her to say. “Erm,” he rubs up and down his arm. “What do you mean? I think he’s a great guy. Ya know, a little rough around the edges and difficult to get close to—”

“No, I don’t want your opinion of him. I need to know what does he _mean_ to you?”

Hefty narrows his eyes. “Why? Afraid I might like him or something? You don’t have to worry, Poppy. I’m not the type of Smurf to push up on anybody else’s beau.” His shoulders deflate of their confident hump. “What he means to me doesn’t matter. Not when I know he loves another.”

“So, you love him?”

“No, I don’t!” Hefty grasps angrily at the air and pulls at his hat. “Why doesn’t anybody get that? I don’t love Branch. I may like him a whole lot, but love? I can’t love somebody who won’t let me get close to him and—and what’s the whole point of this interrogation? He will never like me because he loves you!”

For long moments, Hefty just shuts his eyes and stands there, breathing. He wishes with all his heart he can get rid of the angry images flashing in his mind’s eye. Remembering them hugging in the mushroom. How Poppy practically throws herself all over Branch like she enjoys taunting the world with how much she has the blue troll all to herself. Hefty knows he can never have Branch. He knows Branch will never feel the same way about him. Whatever happened by the creek was merely a smurfed up moment. They’re both hot blooded guys who got caught up in the moment. It’s a reasonable enough conclusion to what will never happen again.

Hefty opens his eyes as a heaviness settles around him, dragging a weight too massive for his own shoulders to bear and he’s brought down to the ground. He curls his legs, one over the other, and lets out a long sigh.

“Satisfied,” he grumbles. “There, ya ain’t got anything to worry about. I’m a Smurf of my word. If you want me to steer clear of Branch, I can do that. I’ll respect your wishes.”

Poppy comes to him and squats to his level. Her hand presses into his shoulder. “Branch loves me, and I love him,” Hefty grimaces, “but he’s my best friend. Of course, I love him. Don’t you love Smurfette?”

“Yeah,” Hefty says with a bored quickness. “But I’m not in love with her.”

“And we aren’t in love either.”

Hefty’s eyebrows shoot past his cap. “Huh?” 

She giggles at his wide eyes. “No, you silly, Branch doesn’t love me like that. Goodness, we would make a horrible couple.”

“But,” Hefty shakes his head, “I saw you and him hugging?”

“So? Weren’t you and Smurfette doing the same thing?”

“Yeah.” Hefty rubs the back of his head. That tightening his chest slowly unravels. “So, there’s no chance that. . . he might love you and you don’t know it?”

“Nah, no way. It’ll be too weird, me and him.” Poppy rights herself, smoothing away the wrinkles from her dress. “Besides, Branch has a specific standard that I’ll never be able to meet. But you,” she bounces her eyebrows, “you definitely qualified in Branch’s book of Fine Guys.”

Hefty stands too. “How do you figure?”

“Are you kidding? Look at these rippling muscles and those rock-hard abs,” Poppy playfully growls and squeezes his bicep. Then she grabs his face and stretches his lips. “Check out these pretty pearly whites and those adorable baby blue eyes. You’re a super duper handsome Smurf and he’s a super duper handsome troll. You two should go frolic into the sunset and be super duper handsome together.”

Hefty can’t resist the praise and flexes for her. She giggles. He looks at her, then in the direction where he feels Branch is waiting. “But, you’re cool with me pursuin’ him?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Poppy suddenly looks fierce, wagging a finger and swaying her head. “Unless you’re only after one thing then we’re going to have some serious issues because most trolls aren’t that free loving if you catch my drift.”

Hefty thinks, then it hits him harder then a boulder. “Heck no!” he snaps. “I’m not that kind of smurf!”

“Oh good!” Poppy claps her hands, instantly back to her cheerful demeanor. “I thought I was going to have to snatch you by your eyebrows. So, now that we’ve established you’re in love with Branch—”

“I’m not in—”

“Denial? Yes, you are.” Poppy taps a finger to her chin. “We’re going to have to do something this tension here between you two—your fault, by the way—so I declare it your responsibility to fix it.”

“How?”

“You’re going to have to appeal to Branch’s better nature. Show him something he can’t resist.”

Hefty scratches beneath his hat. “What kind of stuff is he into?”

“Branch is the biggest nerd. He can dissect anything by sight and tell you how it works through and through. Building, reading, building, reading, panicking, complaining, whining, providing security all of those are his favorite hobbies.”

“I dunno anything around here.” Hefty pauses, thoughtfully stroking his chin. “I could figure out a way to—” he pauses then snaps his fingers. “I got it!” He grabs Poppy by the sleeve and whispers frantically in her ear.

She frowns, nods, blinks and beams. “Great, but why did you whisper? I told you they can’t hear us.”

Hefty shrugs. “What do you think?”

“It’s a great idea!” Poppy squeals, feet kicking. “Branch is going to love it. But we’re going to have to rectify something before we can do this.”

“Which is?”

Poppy collapses her hair fortress and points towards her best friend. “Go break the tension.”

“You expect me to do this right now? What do I even say?”

“Figure it out!” She shoves him harder. “Go, go, go. Why are you so heavy? It’s like pushing a Growl Beast!”

“A what?”

“Why aren’t you walking?!”

“OK, OK, I’m goin’.” Hefty lightly brushes her away. He straightens his back, clears his throat and swallows back his sudden bout of shyness when Branch meets his eyes.

Now or never. Seems like he’s the one always put in the position to apologize. But then, he’s been the one acting like a jerk. How can Branch know how Hefty feels towards him? He can’t. . . But it’s easier to express himself to the troll after learning that he and Poppy have no romantic connection. That information alone puts an eagerness in his stride and a surge of happiness impossible to contain.

He’s smiling all wide and stupidly and almost giggles. Poppy and Branch aren’t together. They’re friends. There’s still hope for. . . for. . .

Hefty stops in front of him.

Branch meets his eyes.

“Branch,” Hefty starts.

Branch lifts his chin. “Hefty,” he retorts just as haughtily. “So?”

“Right,” Hefty scratches his arm. “I should probably say. . .”

“Yeah?”

 “That I’m . . .”

Branch steps closer. “That you’re?”

“I’m. . .” Hefty looks at Branch’s face, memorizes it more, imagines it smiling for him. Then he steps forward fast, wrapping his arms around Branch’s middle and shuts his eyes tight for the predictable rejection. “I’m really sorry.”

There, before he can be pushed away, Hefty can be relieved that he got that out.

To his surprise, there’s no hard push or squirming.  Branch’s arms slowly rise and grasp at his back. Then he squeezes and lays his chin on Hefty’s shoulder. “Me too.”

Hefty hugs him closer, never having felt so content with life like this. He can go on like this forever. And he does, standing there, holding Branch in his arms, so glad to have that chapter of misunderstanding closed and nothing, but progression to look forward to.

It’s going to be different now. Way better. Hefty leans away and takes Branch’s hands in his. “Let’s start over, yeah? I wanna get this right.”

Branch impishly lifts an eyebrow. “ _This_ being?”

Hefty swings their joined hands, matching the troll’s expression. “Oh, ya know. I’m talkin’ about this.” He squeezes their hands and reaches out to trail a finger along Branch’s cheek. “And _this_.” His smile crinkles his eyes.

The blush on Branch’s face is priceless. “Ah, you mean _this_.” He smiles a little and nods. It’s the answer to that weird sense in his belly. “I think I kind of like _this_.”

“Me too.” Hefty’s tone is excessively tender and relieved, almost hoarse with it. He leans away, taking Branch’s chin between two fingers and gives a wiggle until Branch meets his eyes. “You won’t regret it.”

Branch smiles, feels the tugs of it curving like a rainbow. “I know.” His eyes shift, then he chuckles. “I think I trust you.”

Hefty’s eyebrows disappear for the second time and it’s all he can do not to whoop and cheer. But holding Branch is so much better. He steps up to press his forehead on Branch’s and nuzzles their noses. A moment like this couldn’t be more perfect.

“Awww, aren’t they cute? I’m so moved!”

The two jump, surprised, but then again, not really. The boys look behind them to find Poppy dramatically draping herself in Smurfette’s arms.

Trust Poppy to ruin a good moment.

 

 

 


	10. Navy Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluff, sweetness, and some subtle drama afoot! Thanks so much for reading everybody! Please excuse any mistakes and enjoy!

**Navy Blue**

Branch steps out of the dressing room and strides down the red carpet and stops before a tri-panel mirror set. He stares at his reflection. He looks as ridiculous as he feels. There’s no reasoning with Poppy when she’s on one of her fashion frenzies. The fact she has Tailor Smurf feeding her ego only heightens the hazardous levels in the small shop. Branch never imagined he’d find himself dressed in so many clashing colors; like a bunch of gem trolls took it upon themselves to exact their vengeance with fart glitter and polka dots.

“I look stupid,” he grouches as he twists a little and more to the right to observe whether those rips are meant to be that low on his backside. That’s showing entirely too much skin. And this material is too tight around his thighs.

Tailor Smurf pokes his head out of the curtains. He giggles behind his hand, “Don’t be absurd, darling. I never seen a soul better suited to wear polka dots. It’s like the pattern was made just for you!” Then he ducks back into hiding with a squealing Poppy and giggling Smurfette.

“Why am I doing this again?” Branch does a one-hundred eight turn. The position offers another view of the rest of his outfit. There’s less back there than he realized. Why does is there a tail hole? The opening dips right at his buttocks and hugs just where. . .

That’s his butt.

A very embarrassing view of his humps will be on display if he goes outside like this. Branch’s face blazes purple as he tugs his vest over his lower half. “Poppy!”

Honestly, Branch has no idea what is wrong with him. Call him a sucker for pouty eyes or a weak hearted moron, but he had only meant to tag along with the girls for a little while. Hefty insisted he go with them because he wants to spend his morning workout solo mio in the wood. That and Hefty wants him to grab more clothes because no amount of repairing and stitching will completely restore Branch’s leaf-pleated vest to it’s original state.

Branch would rather look like he can’t afford to wear a string instead of subjecting himself to wearing this colorful disaster. Just look at him. Boy, if Creek got a gander of him in this holey, polka, sparkly duds. . .

And just like that, he’s extra mad all over again. “Poppy!”

Smurfette appears out of the dressing room, more like she’s shoved out, and nervously follows the red carpet, rubbing up and down her arm. Branch’s eyes grow huge. And here he thought Poppy was cruel towards him. He’s got nothing on the evil Poppy cast upon poor Smurfette.

“Uh,” Branch looks her up and down. “Where’s your dress? And what’s up with your hair?”

Smurfette looks like she wants to fall through the floor. “P-Poppy says it wasn’t doing my figure any justice?” She doesn’t sound all that convince of it.

The new arrangement is a scandalously clinging hot pink, knee-length dress with no sleeves and revealing dainty shoulders. The dress glitters with hundreds of shimmering, swirly sequin. Her blonde hair cascades down her back despite the clips and pins piling up loose curls on top of her head. She’s radiant, a glowing beckon of beauty. Branch sees nothing but trouble.

“So,” she addresses Branch after a long bout of his staring leaves her squirming. “How do I look?”

Branch’s eyes roll up to the ceiling before he folds his arms. “Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“Like, you want the friendly stranger honesty, or do you want me to hit you with the girlfriend please?”

“. . . I’m not sure either are safe for my self-esteem.”

Branch settles for the latter. “Let’s just say I wouldn’t go struttin’ around the village in that get-up. You look like you’re ready for a _really_ good time.”

Smurfette blinks, the phrase lost on her.

“You ever had your salad tossed?”

Smurfette curls a finger under her chin. “Only when Chef brings out the smurfberry dressing.

Branch’s ears sag a bit for her. He motions for her to come closer. He whispers in her ear.

Smurfette squeaks, hands flying to her mouth. “Is that what she—but I’m not, I-I don’t know how to—Oh, my smurfing goodness—Poppy!” She doesn’t waste a second sprinting back into the changing room.

Branch goes back to studying his own get-up. He lifts his vest and wiggles his hips. The fabric doesn’t give in the slightest, clutching like wet latex on his thighs and hips and butt. There is absolutely no way any of these Smurfs know about the horrors that take place behind these walls. Especially Papa Smurf. Unless they’re all secretly depraved behind those sweet, happy smiles. . .

Branch would go on gawking at the lack of delicate discretion on his hindquarters if it weren’ chime of the doorbell.

Branch hurriedly covers himself. “What, who is that, what?”

Hefty comes around the corner wiping his face with a towel. “Sup’,” he greets, smoothing the towel over his shoulders. “I came to see how things were goin’ and . . . Oh. . .” his grin turns sneaky as he comes nearer. “Not that I don’t appreciate the view, but I don’t think I’m alright with everysmurf seein’ ya like this.”

Branch, in his haste to disguise the worse of the design, had only managed to cover the front and not the back. So, Hefty was getting his fair share of what lies beneath Branch’s pants.

“This isn’t my fault!” Branch jerks an accusing thumb over his shoulder while struggling to overlap his hair around his waist. “Tailor and Poppy were the ones who got me in this mess!” His ears press flat to his head, twitching furiously.

“It is a little revealing.”

“A _little?_ ” Branch draws a second layer of hair around himself until he resembles a large hair ball. “Please say  you’re here to save me?”

Hefty pokes at the hairy barrier, chuckling. “Yeah, I was talking to Brainy earlier and he helped me fix up something I think you’re really gonna like.” He explains, getting more and more excited. “Do you wanna see it?”

“Yes. _Yes_. God, yes!” Branch stabs his feet through the hair ball and quickly waddles to the dressing room. “Lemme get my clothes. I’ll be out in a sec!”

Branch doesn’t care what it is Hefty wants to show him. The clouds, watching the grass grow, coloring inside the lines, who freaking cares. This escape is just what the doctor ordered.

Branch stumbles out of the room, dunning on his vest.

Hefty’s looking around curiously at the clothing, taking in the debased quality and the more delicately woven designs that left zero to the imagination. One such design he pulls off a hanger to scrutinize with a small frown. He holds it up, turning it side to side, but it looks the same all around. A single crotch flap and thin shoulder straps.

“I don’t think this one’s finished.” Hefty tenses when he feels a hand land on his back, every muscle in his body going taut. He glances over his shoulder, giving the appendage a pointed look before realizing his nose is a mere finger-space away from brushing against Branch’s cheek.

Branch clucks his tongue, eyebrows drawn together in bewilderment. “Finished? Did he ever start? Look at this. All of your sunshine’s gonna be out there!” Branch leans around the smurf to snatch the fabric from Hefty’s grasp to examine it himself. “Where would you wear it?”

Hefty could only imagine, just as confounded by the thought of anyone being sane enough to try it on. Though, his mind wasn’t exactly spiraling with ideas of that weirdo outfit. More like, he could appreciate the one holding the clothes and enjoy memorizing Branch’s adorable scrunched up expression, the sunlight gleaming the window to gloss over his hair and the tilt of his head.

So many simple little actions and all of them set a funny tickle in Hefty’s gut.

Hefty searches the shop. Nobody’s around, smurf or troll. It’s just him and Branch, all alone, not a soul nearby to disturb them. Tailor Smurf’s shop isn’t the most glamorous setting, but Hefty has missed a whole two days of not being near Branch. There hasn’t been much interaction between them since the other day and that’s partially Hefty’s doing, again, but it’s for a good reason this time. There’s a special something he wants to share with Branch to express what he’s been feeling lately. And it’s definitely something Hefty thinks Branch will like, something to appeal to that nerdy nature of his.

Brainy Smurf certainly goes gaga over it. Why not test the theory to see if it’ll work on Branch too?

But first, Hefty kind of wants to test the waters a bit. Just to see what he’ll be able to see how far along Branch is willing to go with their connection.

Branch is too distracted with fussing over the thingie’s morality to notice Hefty take up position behind him, noting the soft scent earthy smell and a faint trace of clovers. The troll releases a startled gasp, the hanger falling from his hands, when large blue hands settle gently on his hips. Branch’s eyes blow wide open as he gazes up and straight into the reflection of Hefty’s figure shifting against him; a respectable space and still, it’s suddenly a whole lot warmer in here.

Branch calms marginally though, because it isn’t all that terrifying; just really, really weird to have someone other than a troll hold him. His accelerated pulse is ringing like concert bells in his ears. Branch lightly drums his fingers in front of himself, avoiding looking directly at Hefty’s blunt staring.

“So, you’re, uh, standing kind of close, don’t you think?”

Maybe Hefty is. He ignores the inane question for the moment to concentrate on the view of them standing close, and rubs their cheeks together. Then he completely encircles Branch’s waist and brings him just a tad closer.

This feels so much better. “S’ your fault for being so huggable. . .” He turns his nose inward, pressing it pointedly on Branch’s jugular. “. . . and smelling so nice.”

Branch listens absently to the chatter that’s more a distant mumbling to his ears, mind too shot into hyperdrive to distinguish words. He’s stiff all over. No way can he relax when there’s all that heaping wall of rock hard muscle pressed against him.

At Hefty’s sudden squeeze, Branch squirms a little, wordlessly clearing his throat.

That gains Hefty’s attention. He takes in Branch’s blushing cheeks, the shifty twitch in his eyes and sighs. “Sorry,” he says, arms loosening, eyes downcast. His stomach clenches with uncertainty. “Too much, too soon?”

“Not really, I guess,” Branch lets out a long sigh, and lets his temple rest on Hefty’s cheek. “It’s weird for me. I’m not all lovey dovey, affectionate, ya know? I’ve never been like that. Or well, I used to be as a kid, but things changed, stuff happened, and I became less troll-like.” His ears sink a bit at the ends. He huffs a small, self-deprecating laugh, “Imagine that. Me admitting I’m not all that trolly.”  

Hefty noses at his cheek affectionately, and closes his eyes. “So, what?” he mumbles. “I still think you’re pretty smurfy as you are.”

“Ya big dummy,” he mutters, but with so much affection in his voice it was almost like an endearment.

“Silly troll,” Hefty softly returns and squeezes Branch closer. “ _My_ silly troll.”

Branch brings his hands to rest where blue ones draped around his waist and he considers Hefty’s eyes through the mirror. “Eww, you’re too sweet for words.”

Shifting around, not even caring that they run the risk of somebody walking in because this feeling’s too addictive to ignore, Branch winds his arms around Hefty’s neck and rests their foreheads together. Noses touching, breath mingling, this close, there’s no way Branch will ever deny the warmth and admiration in Hefty’s eyes isn’t the most beautiful thing.

“You bring the warm and fuzzies outta me, Blue,” Branch breathes, voice a small tremor. “I never knew I had it in me.”

Hefty’s eyes roll up playfully. “Blame it on my magnetic charm. I knew it wouldn’t be long before you couldn’t resist these muscles.” Hefty unwinds an arm to bend it tight, so his bicep swells into a thick lump.

Branch pokes it and shrugs. “They’re OK. A tad squishy.”

“Yeah, I know. Aren’t they impressive—” Hefty stops short, when the words catch up to him. “Who’s squishy?”

Branch pinches the Smurf’s nose. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to show me?”

Hefty presses a finger in Branch’s nose. “I wanted to spend a little time with you before we head out.”

“To spend _more time_ with me?”

“Yeah . . . oh.”

“Like I said, you’re a dummy,” chuckles Branch. He steps out of their embrace to go slap the curtain. “Poppy, I’m heading out with Hefty. Finish your fashion show without me!” He walks away before she starts to protest. No way is he sticking around to play model for her crazy assembly line.

Branch rubs his hands together with eagerness. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Hefty holds his hand up before they step out the door. “Before we go, a couple of things first. I need to wash. I worked up a sweat and I want you to close your eyes when we go to the spot.”

“Why?”

“’Cause it’s a surprise.”

Branch lifts an eyebrow. “This doesn’t involve glitter, rainbows, or anybody jumping out of a hiding place to scream surprise, right?” He folds his arms. “I’m gonna warn you now I hate that. I reserve the right to punch out the first one who jumps out at me. And I won’t apology either.”

“Nothing like that. Sheesh, you’re violent.” Hefty walks out the door first and holds it open. He bows at the waist, dramatically sweeping out his arm. “After you.”

“Now you’re being extra sweet.” Branch taps Hefty’s nose as he walks by. “Which way is your pod—erm, mushroom?”

“This way. Whenever you get lost, just remember all of us have a way to tell our mushrooms apart.”

“Do tell.”

Hefty leads the way, giving the short tour of his home, he never had the chance to do. “Smurfette’s is the only one with flowers. Brainy’s usually got somethin’ smoking outta his windows, so he’s the only one who keeps them open in the afternoons. Clumsy is the only magic induced mushroom since he’s accident prone. Papa Smurf says it’s to minimize having Handy all over the place.”

“Where is Handy?”

“He’s around,” Hefty remarks. “Probably at the dam. He monitors it every three days to check the latch’s integrity.”

“Sounds like a big responsibility.”

“It is. Poor Smurf’s always got the weight of the village on his shoulders.”

“Sounds like you.”

Hefty chuckles, sheepishly rubbing under his cap. “I do what I can. Here we are!”

Branch comes up to red cap mushroom no different from the rest. There’s a workout bench, some dumbbells, stretch mats and jump ropes scattered around the front yard. Branch’s fingers twitched like the tick in his eye. He’s never, ever liked a disorder. If Hefty’s junk is littered all over the place outside, Branch is terrified to know what the interior’s like.

Hefty doesn’t keep him guessing long. They head inside and its as Branch feared, a huge clutter of workout equipment, discarded towels and wooden cups littering the window seal and dinner table. He subconsciously clutches his hands as his internal need to organize, bubbles forth.

“Make yourself at home. Sorry about the mess.” Hefty tosses his cap on his bed. “I won’t be long!” He retreats around the corner leading to where Branch assumes is the washroom.

When he’s sure the Smurf is gone, Branch gets to work. There is no way he can sit anywhere in here while it looks a sight. There’s even a low hanging scent permeating the home. While it isn’t entirely unpleasant, Branch knows it could stand to smell better. He opens all the windows, fanning in some good old natural air and goes on from there.

“There’s some smurfberry juice in the icebox outside in case you get thirsty!” Hefty calls from the back.

“Thanks,” Branch returns. “By the way!” He picks up several books off the floor and stacks them on the table. “If you have a bathroom, why did I catch you naked in the creek?”

“I wasn’t washing, I was cleansing!”

“There’s a difference?” No answer comes besides a short laugh. Branch doesn’t pay it much attention. Why does Hefty have so many dumbbells? Branch pinches a dirty towel off the floor, nose scrunching at the dingy brown stains and gags. He flicks it in the corner and the remaining filth follows in a flurry of throws.

Branch isn’t sure he likes the dinner table where it is. Maybe closer to the wall where there’s a better view of the village. At least that way, Hefty can get a gander of the goings-on outside. The table’s picked up and carefully placed there. But then Branch notices that when it’s put there, the bench-press makes the corner look closed in. He grabs the bottom handle and pulls it towards the back of the home where he arranged the weights by size and shape.

Then again, is it really a good idea to keep the bed where it is? He doesn’t think on it a second more and uses his hair to cradle the entire bed and with a grunt, lifts it up to carry elsewhere. There’s nothing Branch can do about the punching bag since it’s hooked up there. The enormous barbell, yeah, that massive thing should be outside. It reads five hundred pounds on each side.

Branch sighs. It can’t be helped. It’s driving him crazy. If he can get this last thing out of the way, his skin will stop feeling like ants crawling all over him. So, with a deep breath, summons the edges of his hair to enfold wide bundles around the bar and lifts it high up with only a strained groan. Then it’s off to lay it outside and Branch spends some time putting Hefty’s front yard into some type of order.

Honestly, Branch isn’t sure when or why it became so important to see Hefty’s home clean. Call it his impulsive need to keep a neat space or maybe because Hefty’s such a pack rat, but Branch feels a lot more comfortable with his handy work. The last work in order is to clear out the dirt.

All his hair rises and pans out in a half circular formation, then he flaps it forward. Small clouds of dust and debris are kicked up and corralled out the doorway. The corners he can’t reach, Branch uses his hair to dig into and sweeps into a pile and then out the door.

Branch wipes his brow. “There.” Completely and utterly satisfied with his work, he turns to fully inspect the finish and— backs off with horror.

“Hefty, for crying out loud!”

Branch swivels in place, using his hair to cloak over his entire body, flushing purple with indignation. The last thing he’d been expecting to find in the empty home is Hefty standing in the hall opening wrapped in what can only be described as the thinnest towel in the universe.

Branch peers over his shoulder—Hefty can’t tell if he does or doesn’t anyway—and watches as the Smurf walks in a daze around his mushroom.

He seems completely unashamed with his nudity—not even a little uncomfortable with Branch being in his presence. Branch doesn’t blame him, now that he can properly look. Hefty is all bulk and blue smoothness, legs and arms all trim with the promise of power. Narrow hips and a flat stomach, and thunderous thighs leaning to big feet. Branch thinks maybe if he roams around naked all the time too if he looked half as freaking perfect as Hefty does. 

“You cleaned up—and did some rearranging,” Hefty absently announces. “I didn’t know I had so much space.” He faces the wall of hair, blinking, then tilts his head low with a teasing grin. “Guess we would need the space to fit your stuff in here.”

Branch peels open his hair to glare.

Hefty shrugs and goes to his closet. He pauses, then shoots a mischievous leer over his shoulder. Branch isn’t sure what that looks means until the towel slips lower and he ducks back inside his cocoon.

“Really?” he shouts.

“That’s what you get for staring so hard.”

“Uh, because you’re naked!” And that doesn’t help his argument. “I wasn’t lookin’ _that_ hard.”

“Bro, I was about to spontaneously combust!” Hefty’s deep laughter penetrates Branch’s chest like a crack of thunder. “I’ll quit teasing.” Hefty steps into a pair of his pants and wiggles them on. “See? All done.”

Branch shyly opens a small slit in his hair. When he’s sure, he dissolves the cocoon.

“What happened to your hair?”

Branch reaches up to inspect it a strand. The blue shade is faded, cloaked in dust. He blows it off. “Nothing, I swept your floor.”

“You didn’t have to. . . You didn’t have to clean up at all.”

“I wanted to. Doesn’t it look better? And it smells better in here.”

“Gee thanks?” He rubs behind his neck, shifting from foot to foot. “So, you wanna see your surprise or shower first?”

“I’ll shower when we get back.” Branch steps outside and gives his hair a great shake to free the dust. “I’m eager to see what you got planned for me.”

“I thought you hated surprises.”

“I do.” Branch takes Hefty’s hand when he steps out the door. “But you’re doing it for me, so it’s cool.” He says in truth and doesn’t know how much it touches Hefty to hear him say it.

Hefty squeezes their joined hands. “You won’t regret it.”

He figures he’s already gotten away with a whole lot today and wonders if he can try a little more. . .

Hefty leans into Branch’s side and rests his free hand on his cheek, which sends a soft jolt all through the troll. And that look of his is just as compelling. Hefty nears, bottom lip quivering as his hand cradles his cheek, almost traces it to teal blue lips. But he doesn’t want them, not yet. So he presses his lips to Branch’s cheekbone, lingering until the warmth and texture of his skin can be forever memorized on Hefty’s lips.

Branch gasps, small and breezy, when Hefty pulls away.

The troll isn’t sure who’s more overwhelmed, himself for receiving the sweet gesture or Hefty who appears as lost and worried as a cuddle pup stuck in the dark. Branch can be generous and sincere, though and he really wants to get rid of the subtle tension. He takes charge, leaning in to touch his lips to the corner of Hefty’s mouth and the feeling prickles like a needle.

Hefty’s crooked smile outshines the sun. “C’mon,” he tugs Branch towards the forest. “Close your eyes.” He pauses, then adds, “Better yet, cover them.”  

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Branch does with a couple of firm wraps around his face. “There.”

Hefty waves his hand in the troll’s face to be sure of it’s integrity. No signs of awareness. Hefty smiles wider and pulls Branch towards the gift he has waiting for him.

Deciding on the appropriate gift was a no brainer. Arranging it was the tough part because he didn’t know a thing about this sort of thing. He left the rough details to Brainy and Handy Smurf. The two thought the plan was great and gave them both a reason to put the old place to use since most Smurfs ignore it. Hefty can count on his four fingers how many Smurfs come around the old place anymore, but something just screams deep in his gut that Branch will love it.

It’s not far from the village. The enormous yak tree is the only one of it’s kind in the forest. Papa Smurf swears Grandpa Smurf was the one who brought it here from a faraway continent during his journey around the world. He says the tree called to him, seeming to beg to be taken with him to their home.

“We’ve been walking a long time,” Branch casually says, his head turning left and right. “Are we far from the village?”

“Nah and I took the scenic route.” They arrive to the tree’s base before a postern door. Hefty reaches inside his cap to fish around until he feels the ridges of a key. “Don’t worry, Poppy will be fine.”

Branch’s whole head spins to Hefty’s voice. “Who’s worried? I’m not worried.”

“Course you aren’t.” The door’s jarred open. Hefty turns to take both of Branch’s hands and tentatively guides him inside. “Almost there.”

Branch feels the remaining tips of his hair graze the top of something and instinctively ducks his head. He feels giddy when their surroundings darken. Hefty pulls him along some moments more than abruptly stops. He squeezes Branch’s hand, then the troll feels his cheek kissed for the second time today.

“Wait right here—no peeking!”

“I won’t!” Branch chuckles at the excitement in Hefty’s tone.

Rushing over to the curtain covered windows, Hefty then hastily draws the curtains apart. Branch could feel the soft afternoon sunshine glowing on his face, and the brightness filtering through his tightly-shut-eyes. The anticipation is beginning to eat at his innards. It’s taking everything within him not to anxiously jump up and down.

“Can I open them now?”

“Wait. . .” Hefty begins, before adding a pause to intensify the suspense. “. . . Now!”

Branch opens his eyes slowly, knowing they’ll have to adjust to the change in light. Then, they sparkle with dramatic awe as he lets out an astounded gasp, hardly believing the sight he’s seeing. This—this structure is grand, the grandest and most phenomenal he has ever seen. High, high as his eyes can span to make out into the endless ceiling, were shelves upon shelves of books. Every square inch of the farther wall is covered in rows of books and the shelves reach all the way to the cylindrical shaped tower. A spiraling stairwell built into what Branch establishes is the inside of a tree curves upward into a glowing beam of golden lanterns embedded in the walls. There’s numerous floors of knowledge.

Branch can barely speak, he is so overwhelmed. The fortress feels like its pulsating with ancient wisdom. “This is. . . is this your library?”

"In a manner of speakin’." Hefty proudly folds his arms, also having a proper look around. “This place houses just about all there is to know ‘bout Smurf history. Everything Granny and Grandpa Smurf learned about the world is in here. There’s about a thousand years’ worth of knowledge to read through. All we could ever wish to know. We can come here whenever we want, ‘course not a lotta Smurfs really care what happens outside the village. Only Dreamer, Brainy and Alchemist come here.”

“It’s. . . it’s all just. . . I . . . can’t believe there’s—”

Branch sways.

“Hey, you feelin’ alright?” Hefty asks, hands hovering outside of Branch’s shoulders. “You look. . . confused or something. Do you, do you like it—Branch!”

Hefty’s by the troll’s side in seconds to catch him. Branch passes out, purely out of bibliophilic bliss. Although the fall is quick, it’s fairly cushioned. Hefty was worried at first, but the concern eases into slight amusement.

Within seconds, Branch rouses. He groggily sits up half way in Hefty’s arms. Hefty is starring at him closely, a troubled look upon his face.

"Ya good? You… fainted on me. Nearly gave me a smurfin’ heart attack."

"Huh…?" Branch replies, seeming somewhat perplexed. "Oh, I… I thought I was dreamin’. So, all of this really is real."

Hefty manages to break into a smile. He stands with Branch in his arms. “You should probably lie down.”

Branch presses his palm into his forehead. “Nah, m’good. Just, stunned.” He casts another wondrous glance around the massive achieve. “There’s so much about your race in here. I can’t believe you’d share it all with me.”

“I trust you,” Hefty says right away.

Branch looks up at him, the tiniest smile tilting his lips. Then he wraps his arms around Hefty’s neck in an appreciative hug. “Thanks, Blue.”

Hefty freezes, for a moment, out of shock—but then out of relief. Without another moment to spare, Hefty curls his arms around to hug Branch back as tight as his strong arms can without crushing the troll’s fragile body.

By Mother Nature’s grace, he doesn’t ever want this moment to end.

He’d thought their time before was magical, it’s got nothing on the searing warmth throbbing in Hefty’s chest. He may have thought, probably wanted so desperately to believe it isn’t love he feels for Branch and maybe it isn’t. . . but he’s dangerously teetering further over the edge. . .

Branch suddenly squirms until Hefty puts him on his feet. Blushing mildly, Branch turns away, eagerly wanting to investigate the countless books stacked into the shelves. “I dunno where to start,” he whispers, keeping Hefty’s hands. “What do you recommend?”

Hefty’s over the moon. “Whatever you want, Bro. Sky’s the limit for ya in here.”

Branch beams and dashes to the stairwell, dragging Hefty behind him with a glowing animation. Branch ventures through multiple shelves, reading the titles off the book, the summaries on the back, then stuffing them in his hair.

Hefty isn’t sure how many books Branch manages to store in his hair by the time they reach the sixth level, but apparently, it’s enough to satisfy him to catapult over the edge and land airlessly on the last floor. Hefty leaps over the edge, landing next to him. Branch takes out a leaning sheaf of books and stacks them next to him. He flips open the first one, all smiles and merriment.

“This one’s called, _‘Fairies of My Time._ ’” Branch, clasping a book bearing a silver cover, tells Hefty. “The back says it details everything there is to know about the water, earth and fire fairies from the Irish Isles.” He then explains in depth, beckoning Hefty to join him as he did so. “It sounds interesting. I’m wonderin’ what fairies are. Another word for Smurfs?”

"Beats me." Hefty slightly grunts as he lowers himself to the floor, looking down at the dusty, but grandly presented book. “I’ve seen Pixies, elves and goblins. Never fairies.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

“Cool.” Branch rolls onto his belly, spreading the book open. He licks his lips, looking timidly up when he says, “Want me to read it?”

“Yeah!” Hefty lays next to him, laying his chin in his folded arms. “Nothin’ll make me happier.”

Branch smiles widely and scoots closer to him until their flanks are perfectly aligned. Then he goes into a soft voice that dives into the magical world through the eyes an explorer Branch never met, but is so glad provided the evidence to teach others about the unknown. He’s more than glad to relive it through words rather then experience.

He’s outside of that harsh, sarcastic shell, all child-like delight and enthusiasm. Hefty smiles longingly, listening to the beautiful, musical voice murmur sentences.

Hefty will never know a happiness this amazing as long as he lives.

He doubts anything else on the planet can compare to seeing this beautiful troll happy. . .

The first thought to pass through Gullible Smurf’s mind is how much he wishes he hadn’t let Winner sweet talk him into taking over his shift. He really doesn’t like to be stuck on sentry duty for half the day. The sun’s already about to set, and here he is, sitting at the post in the middle of the grand forest, missing out on Chef’s Smurfberry Deluxe Surprise, while peering myopically at the magic veil and absently rubbing his fingers along the wooden rail. He draws in a deep sigh, but before the sound could trail off completely a sharp rapping from behind startles him off the perch.

He turns where he’s half dangling off the guard post’s edge. Shy Smurf offers a light wave. “For Smurf’s sake, Shy, you scared me!”

“Oh, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“Yeah, well, it’s alright.” Gullible rights himself on the edge, patting the space next to him. Shy quietly makes his way over, fettling with his fingers. “What brings you out here?”

“I, well,” Shy gulps, cheeks becoming warm and his voice extra stuttering. “I-I-I thought you could use the, um, the company. I could leave if you don’t want me here.”

“No way! Please stay, I would love the company.”

“You sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. Do whatever you want!”  Gullible sounds remarkably amused for someone tricked into pulling a double shift. “It’s too bad you’re gonna miss out on Chef’s big ole dinner.”

“Oh, that’s OK. Clumsy Smurf says he’ll bring us plates later.” Shy rocks his feet, then quietly asks. "Isn't Passive-Aggressive Smurf supposed to be out here with you?"

"Yeah, but he says he had to go water some carrots." 

"But. . ." Shy sighs. "Gullible, nosmurf's growing carrots this time of year." 

"Really? Oh. Gosh, guess he got me again. Oh well. At least I get to spend some time with my buddy huh?" 

Shy giggles. "I suppose it doesn't hurt. I'll take over Passive's shift." 

"Really? Thanks Shy. You're the best!" Gullible feels twice as happy as he was before. He has good company in his quiet, timid friend and to hear Clumsy will be bringing them plates from tonight’s special dinner. Life can’t get much better. He’s so happy he breaks into one of his favorite songs, loudly expressing it in off key syllables.

“Um-um, Gullible,” Shy softly starts just to be overridden by Gullible’s growing vocals. “Pardon me, Gullible. . . I’m sorry to interrupt but. . . G-Gullible, I don’t think it’s a good idea to sing so loud. We’re supposed to be watching out for danger, not attracting it.”

Gullible looks at Shy.

Shy frantically waves his hands. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t mean anything. Forget I said it. I just thought I would advise you is all. Never mind, act like I didn’t say anything.”

Gullible cracks up. “It’s OK, Shy. You’re right, I’m supposed to be extra stealthy. I’ll keep quiet. I think we both should. Shhh.”

Shy giggles. “OK,” he whispers back and settles in next to his friend to help keep watch over the forest.

Unbeknownst to them, they were already discovered, their position compromised. The grass at the base of the sentry tree transforms into radiant shades of lime, sparkling silver and other unnatural shades. Then the crafty creatures surround the tree and begin their steady climb up just as the sun sets behind the horizon, darkening their approach. . .

 

 

****

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been waiting for the opportune moment for this to happen! *squeals* GET READY FOR A BRAWL!


	11. Stone Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter put me through my paces. Ugh, please enjoy. Excuse any mistakes, please. *crawls away*

**Stone Blue**

 

The site of the large tree ahead is nestled in the curve of a high rising ridge of low hills and smaller trees, all heavily congested with leaves. This bit of luck is why the Trolls have managed to get this close undetected.

Guy Diamond and Smidge were the first to scout out the area. They’d split up, approaching the trunk from either side, maintaining hair signal communication and keeping as silent as possible. Guy Diamond is privately fears for his comrades. Branch’s blooded left a shimmering trail up until they arrived in this point of the forest. Only a strand of pink hair alerted him to Poppy’s company, but no more can be determined.

Unfortunately, the waiting and not knowing is what worries them all. Creek especially. Branch’s a savvy troll. He likely tried to mend his injuries before their journey, but he hasn’t fully healed. Would their captor be so kind as to aid him in his time of need or let him suffer?

He half wishes he had rallied up so many trolls for this mission, but he couldn’t spare the power. The village is at half strength already with him having recruited half the Snack Pack and several Garden and Gem Trolls. The Fuzzlings, Crafters, and remaining parties should manage on their own until their return.

It goes without consequence if they are to succeed though. So much of this forest is populated with predators, carnivorous plants and the strangest of the strange. It’s why he needs the stealthiest, strongest and most naturally-adapted trolls to assist in this rescue.

Hence why he sent Guy Diamond and Smidge to scope out the perimeter. They spotted the blue sentients standing guard high in a makeshift post, carved into the tree with jutting planks and boards used to perch on. Creek can’t gauge whether they’re hostile. He certainly knows their sense of security could use some improvement. All eighteen trolls were able to sneak to the base of the tree without being noticed.

Their only hope is to hit hard, hit fast, and scare the weirdos into running away. If it comes to the point where they resist, Creek doesn’t have a problem using less than civil methods of interrogation.

Smidge and Guy Diamond hold themselves in reserve, studying the sentries’ routine, figuring the best approach. A frontal assault might work. Then again, so could a sneak attack. Their security is pretty sloppy. Neither of them has moved or showed signs of fatigue. That gives Guy Diamond some confidence in his assumption that it hasn’t been that long ago since the last shift switch. No need to be concerned about others coming for now.

Guy Diamond subtly loosens bits of his hair. The message is signaled back via flickers of thin, spider thread glimmers in the dying sunshine. Five quick spurts relay the coast is clear. No one’s around to interfere. Creek corresponds by fanning for the advance team to move forward. He, Aspen, Flint, DJ Suki and Moxie sprint to the tree’s base. He motions for the others to hold until further orders.

“Are we gonna scare ‘em off?” Flint questions, eyes scaling the stretch up.

Creek readies for the massive climb. “Let’s hope they take our numbers seriously enough for that to work.

Aspen quickly adds in, “They’re going to have to take us seriously. After all, we’re on a mission.”

Creek allows himself a tight little smile. “Good point.” With a silent signal, he scales up the rough bark first, moving slowly and in counterpoint to his unseen comrades.

While one side of the lookout faces the congested forest and other smaller, less conspicuous posts, the other faces a hilly wilderness; rolling hills thick with old-growth forest. This side of the forest is riven through with underground escape tunnels that had once been part of Miner Smurf’s cultivation excursions in his search for valuable healing crystals.

Some of the connecting joints have been fortified by Miner, Hefty, Grumpy and Gutsy, deemed too hazardous for further explorations and blocked off from the main tunnels. These unused tunnels don’t connect to any that are still in use. They were sealed with large stones and rubble, and furthermore considered dangerous enough in their own right to discourage any Smurf or thing from venturing down them. 

Still, it’s been discussed that the tunnels were nigh-impenetrable for enemies and should be remodeled so they aren’t so much as a deterrent, but more of a shortcut in case of emergency.

Miner Smurf always knew his ideas for renovating the tunnels would come in handy someday. It’s all thanks to Handy and Hefty’s say in the last village briefing that convinced Papa into permitting the usage of the tunnels again. Of course, little tidbit reports of information on his progress were required daily.

It is unfortunate he will be missing Chef’s wonderful Smurfberry Surprise. He only cooks it every crescent moon. A slice of that delicious cake would sure would be dandy. But Reporter Smurf promised to save him a few slices for when he returns. It’s the kind of motivation that pulses the urgency in Miner’s arms to keep chiseling at the tough rock, reaching higher and higher. He only has to open a shaft intersection between here and the ground surface. And finally open a ventilation drift to filter some air down here since it’s become stifling over the few days he’s spent digging.

With a harsh grinding noise and the sound of falling rocks, Miner Smurf breaches through. He hesitates a moment, waiting to see if the noise may accidentally trigger loose debris and dirt. Driving his pick axe with all his might through pure rock itself has been a task completed mostly in careful precision. After a few moments, it is obvious that everything’s toughly packed in, Miner Smurf works at widening the infiltration hole, then slithers through the opening.

“Whew,” Miner Smurf proudly wipes sweat off his brow, “that’er do for now!” He reaches in his pocket for his dingy washcloth and scrubs at his face, then pulls it back to find it all smudged with soot, dirt and mud. He chuckles. Papa is going to demand he take a bath for a month of moons when he sees just how much work is literally caked to every inch of Miner’s body.

“Is that you, Miner?”

Miner Smurf lifts his face out of his washcloth. He smiles brightly and waves, “Hey there, Clumsy!” Miner Smurf swiftly steps in front of the tunnel opening. Force of habit whenever Clumsy comes bounding out of nowhere since he tends to fall into anything or onto anything not leveled. “What brings you all the way out here?”

Clumsy shakes his head at the question while balancing three neatly wrapped plates on his head and shoulders. “Chef asked me ta’ bring Gullible and Shy some a’ his Smurfberry Surprise.” He suddenly chuckles. “Guess, I shoulda brought another plate. Didn’t think you’d be comin’ outta that hole a’ yers till tomorrow mornin’.”

“Ah, it’s nothing, lil Smurf. I can always get my own.”

“No way, have mine!” In a spectacular show of care, Clumsy concentrates on turning his left side to Miner. “Here ya go. I already had four pieces mah’self.”

“Ya sure, Clumsy?”

“Sure am, go on!”

Miner quickly grabs the plate when it wobbles. “Thanks, buddy.” His mouth waters at the smell of freshly cooked crust, and smoked berry sauce drizzled over the top. He can already taste the moist cake melting on his tongue. “Say, why don’t I join ya in seein’ Gullible and Shy? They can probably use the company. It’s always borin’ havin’ to pull sentry duty.”

Clumsy starts on his way there. “You don’t hafta’ come, Miner. You should wanna get back to Chef. He’s been missin’ you somethin’ awful.”

“Nah, he’ll be alright.”

“Not from what Baker’s been tellin’ everysmurf. Chef stays up all night cooking till he drops. He hardly sleeps much. Baker says they spend most of the days just talkin’ ‘bout you and hopin’ you’re doin’ alright.”

“Oh. . .” Miner uses his towel to wipe behind his head. “I didn’t know me leavin’ would be so hard on ‘im. Maybe I should head back. . .”

“Go on!” Clumsy eagerly pushes Miner towards the village’s path. “Chef’ll probably whip up a feast to celebrate your return!”

“OK, OK, but you hurry back on to the village, ya hear? You gotta catch me up on all that’s happened since I left!”

Clumsy recovers nearly tripping over his feet, catching the airborne plates before they splatter on the ground. “Sure thing, Miner. See ya!”

Clumsy doesn’t continue his trek through the darkening woods until Miner is out of sight. Without having to carry a third plate, walking to the post with just two cakes is a whole lot easier. Too bad he chose now of all times to wander along on the edge of the perimeter; when the forest is mostly dark lines and scary shadows. Most creatures of the night won’t come out of hiding this early on, but Clumsy won’t chance it by lollygagging and speeds up his stride.

Only, there’s a moment where the illusions of his imagination take shape and shimmer to life.

Clumsy senses eyes on him from somewhere, the hackles on the back of his neck charged to pinpoints. He gulps, steadily trying to calm his knobby knees from clanking aloud. It’s just his mind playing tricks on him. No way did he see a flicker of lights up ahead. And even if it is, it’s probably just little ole lightning bugs playing tag.

It happens thrice more.

Clumsy may not be as witty and smart as Brainy Smurf, but he’s always had good instincts and his instincts were blaring like a tulip horn that something’s amiss. He narrows his eyes as he glances all around him, and down the path leading to the sentry point. Gullible and Shy may not like their cakes being smashed, but Clumsy can easily replace them. He carefully stacks and shoves them beneath his cap before hunkering low in the grass.

Something doesn’t feel right at all. Last he recalls, the sentries are supposed to keep a firefly lantern turned on after sunset. The sun’s long gone behind the horizon. Only time there shouldn’t be a light on is. . .

“Oh dear,” Clumsy mutters, worriedly, proceeding towards the post’s tree. Somethings happened.  He checks to make sure his path isn’t blocked or whatever’s out here doesn’t capture him as well. He’s certain that’s what happened here. Gullible may be gullible and Shy is as timid as a butterfly, but they’re very responsible Smurfs and perform their duties well.

Clumsy pauses mid-crawl to the tree’s base, thinking hard. Would it be wise to engage the enemy all on his own? If they’ve already subdued Gullible and Shy, what sort of help will he be? None, that’s what. He’d better go get the others. Hefty, Grumpy, Karate and Gutsy are better at confrontation then he is. They’ll know what to do.

Checking his surroundings for extra measure, Clumsy ducks down as low as his belly can press into the ground and inch worms back towards the village. He wishes he could make a signal or something to assure the two Smurfs that help is on the way. He can’t even shoot a lady bug to piggyback a message to them.

Clumsy hears a swish in the grass behind him and freezes. It happens again, crossing from both flanks. A sharp noise echoes through the silent forest, like someone breaking a piece of thick wood. He rolls away from where it streams loudest to gain his bearings and surges to his feet, prepared to flee.

He notices a silhouette marginally drift out of his peripheral. His mind grows icier, chiller, heart drumming through his chest.

A shower of silver sparkles, a lightning bolt of starlight, a storm of glitter engulfs him from all around. Clumsy sinks into a crouch, balling tight as the starlight tendrils latch onto his arms, and knees, pulling hard. He opens his mouth to scream, but the same strings of softness clasp around his head and mouth.

“Shh, shh, shh, easy, don’t make me hurt you,” rasps a whimsical double toned voice. “We’re not here to fight. We only want information. Think you oblige us without screaming?”

Clumsy’s a rattling wreck. His captor is directly behind him, flush to his backside, lips pressed to his ear so every word feeds into him like an electric current.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” a deep, scratchy voice questions to Clumsy’s left. “It looks like a screamer. Want me to knock it unconscious?”

Clumsy squeaks, terrified.

“No need,” the nicer one, thankfully says. “We’ll keep it here until Creek figures out what to do next.”

“Did he even plan that far ahead?”

“Doesn’t he always?”  

A skeptical snort is heard, tailed by a hum. It’s far too dark to make out much. Moonlight’s little help. Only the distant mushroom lanterns provide some semblance of vision, but it isn’t enough for Clumsy to properly assess the enemy. He tries squirming loose to no avail. They aren’t taking any chances.

A dull rumbling suddenly pervades the air and the ground trembles beneath their feet. Smidge half crouches to steady her steady whilst Guy Diamond took to grabbling grass blades and maintaining a concentrated hold on their captive. A second noise, this one more of a crackle and crunch, erupts into an enormous glimpse of shimmers and radiate blue sparks.

“Hey—hey, hey, hey!” Smidge harshly barks, pivoting towards the chaos, “what are they doing up there? I thought we were going for incognito. Did Moxie bring fireworks—crap, what’s that!”

The piercing whistling suddenly shrilling from where her friends were renders her shocked. Smidge quickly casts a dark glare at the one in Guy Diamond’s hold. The next blast knocks them off their feet. By now, the whole night sky is filled with a network of blue explosions, peppering from different areas of the upper canopy.

Guy Diamond squeezes tighter with only half the strength of his hair and uses the rest to wriggle a portion straight up to send an array of illumination; blue, red and green flickers, demanding an explanation.

Almost immediately he’s met with an audible reply. “Smidge, Guy!” DJ Suki cries out, “One of them set off some kind of emergency pyro technics. We’re about to get a _whole_ lotta company!”

“Damn it!” Smidge angrily marches to their captive and lowers the hair gag. “You better start talking you blue weirdo!” She raises a clenched fist, roughly jamming it to his nose. “Or else!”

Clumsy gasps, smacking his mouth. He spares her a nervous look. She probably expected him to crumple helplessly to the ground, weeping and begging to be left unharmed. That is the usual reaction from the ones she threatens with bodily harm.

But she’s never met a Smurf before.

Instead, Clumsy sucks in as deep as his lungs can stand, and screams.  He doesn’t expect them to recognize the significance of his call so quickly. He’s glad because by the time they think to try and cover his mouth, it’s far too late. He begins to scream again and again, sounds that seem to core out of his throat and amplifies tremendously.

Smidge and Guy Diamond feel the first sensations of dizziness and thumping headaches swirl from the center of their temples, and yank to the forefront of their brains.

“Gah, my ears. Shut it up, shut it up!” Guy Diamond shouts, flattening his ears. “Smidge do something!”

Smidge doesn’t spare a moment. She spins on her heel, winding her fist and clocks it across the blue creature’s head. The siren shouting shuts off as it sways on its feet before heavily dropping to the ground with a thud. Its head bounces off an unseen rock, sharply treading a nasty cut across its brow. A dark, purplish substance leaks, dribbling an ominous trail along its face.

Guy Diamond unpeels his ears, looking warily over the still figure. He sags to his knees, hands hovering above its head. “Smidge,” he whispers. “What did you do?”

“I . . . I . . .” Smidge presses trembling fingers to her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to. I panicked!”

Guy Diamond lays a hand over the creature’s cheek, nervously gnawing his bottom lip. “We have to help it.” He examines the cut, tracing a finger along the length and grimaces. Reaching into his hair, he pulls out a small plastic case and withdraws a pair of shears. Guy lowers the front half of his hair. “Lift its head,” he says to Smidge.

She does, gently cradling its head on her lap.

Guy Diamond firmly wraps some of his hair around the creature’s forehead. The shears smoothly glide through his hair several inches away for some slack. Smidge takes the ends and knots them with her own hair to hold it in place, cutting off the unneeded ends.

“Now what?” she asks.

“We . . . take it away from what’s about to become a deadly fight,” his voice sounds tense.

Smidge looks at his face to see Guy Diamond looking past her shoulder with widening eyes. She glances behind her and freezes.

At a distance, she can make out a bank of similar blue beings gathering at the peak of a grassy hill. There are dozens of them, all blue, all appearing bigger then this one, all their eyes lowered and focused on their injured comrade.

“What did you do?” One of them growls, menacingly pushing up its arms. “What in the smurfing smurf did you do?!” Several more take a slanting angle in their posture.

Guy Diamond and Smidge stand, holding up their hands, slowly retreating. “It was an accident—”

“Get them!” One of them orders.

“Wait, wait, wait, let’s talk this out!” Guy Diamond frantically tries to reason when the rest fall in line. “We aren’t here to fight,” even though Smidge has already readied herself with raised fists. “We’re here looking for friends!”

“So, you hurt one of my brothers!” One of them grouchily shouts and shortly laughs. “That’s some real good negotiating. I knew these freaks couldn’t be trusted. Somebody go tell Papa Smurf what’s happened. Have Farmer and Handy lock Branch and Poppy in the confinement mushroom at once!”

“Yes sir!” A duo of the blue creatures break from formation and scramble back from where they came.

Guy Diamond starts when he hears his friends’ names. Color drains from his face at the implications. “Hold on, don’t hurt them—!”

“Back off!” Smidge fumes at the first three to do a mock charge. Her hair stretches and flays into multiple sharpening ends. “I don’t want to have to hurt you!”

“Oh, we’re hardly worried,” says another, bolder, and prissier, stepping to the front with a flower stitched in its cap. “The only reason you may have one-upped my fair Clumsy is because he’s not a fighter. But you’ve certainly met your match in us.” He slams a fist into an open palm. More come to stand next to it. “You’re going to pay dearly for hurting him!”

Guy Diamond looks carefully in each of their eyes. The darkness disguises just how many they’re accurately up against. Ten, twenty, possibly way more. Creek hadn’t summoned that many Trolls for this expedition.

They can’t afford to lose any troll in an obligatory smackdown because of a misunderstanding.

The one with the flower moves forward to pick up the one called Clumsy and quickly merges into the folds of their forces. Guy Diamond sighs. At least that little one will be safe. That means there’s no point in holding back now. He hates to fight unnecessarily, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know now.

As the blue creatures begin to encircle them, Guy Diamond prickles the glitter on his skin in tune to his hair shuddering, then rippling into whips. He slaps three against the ground in front of him to display the strength each one holds. A furrowed crater is left behind.

“Like she said,” Guy Diamond cautions, turning to face the ones taking position behind them, “we don’t want to hurt you.”

This time, one with a permanent scowl etched on its face, cracks its knuckles. “And like Vanity said, we aren’t worried.”

“You should be!” calls a voice from above.

An enormous glowing orb of green comes plowing down on the frowning blue creature. Creek tails after his hair as it lands hard. The blue creature blocks it with its forearm and propels it away. Creek uses the momentum to wrap the tip of his hair around its wrist and swings to lunge a kick into two chests. They’re thrust back as he lands in the center. More of the trolls come raining in like drizzling rainbow as the blue creatures are stunned into widening the circle.

“If won’t listen to reason, so be it,” thunders Creek. He raises one hand, then cuts his hand forward. “Attack before they reorganize. We’ll sort out the rest later!”

“Take no prisoners!” one blue being calls from the back.

Hair grows, fists become poise. Then, pandemonium begins.

_“With dragonite rapidly depleting, Crystal Pixies were forced to seek another means of amassing the supply. This had lead to the explorations for outside resources as near their home terrain as can be arranged. Eventually, a new solution had presented itself. A desolate wasteland called the Howling Valley, became one of two nearby territories within a reasonable distance from Magnolia Vale._

_Howling Valley is an extremely peculiar and hostile environment with internal stores of crystalized dragonite deposits. To excavate the deposits, mining operations were organized. Mining Outpost C-Vox is a mining tree trunk within Howling Valley and is one of the most prosperous mining facilities to date. This hasn’t always been the case._

_At one time, C-Vox was merely a humble achieving success along with other mining enterprises. But, due to the recent automation of several mining projects, C-Vox stands as the most valuable mining territory for the Crystal Pixies. It falls directly under the Western Ruler, Pharynx’s rule and while he may be intelligent and as powerful as his siblings, Thorax of the East, Crystallark of the South, and Swaddle of the North, Pharynx is ruthless and unforgiving._

_It’s no rumor that Pharynx employs workers as young as yearling Pixies or younger to salvage through the dangerous conditions to risk the lives of Miner Pixies too often. Their immediate health is threatened by the ghastly air quality locked within the underground chambers and limited ability to maneuver. Because of these harsh conditions, the number of miners who survive are subjected to suffering from diamond clots, stiff wing joints, and spontaneous pre-mature wing molts due to continuous exposure to raw dragonite._

_Many lives were lost early on and thus lead to the dwindling populations. Few had other options when searching for a means of providing for their families. I feared during my stay I would bear witness to the extinction of friends I’ve only met days ago. If a change isn’t made soon. . . that may be their future. . ._

_Logged Explorer Smurf (Grandpa Smurf)”_

Pausing from the story, Branch looks up from the text, over the top edge of the book, and contently sighs. “There’s a whole wealth of knowledge stored in here. Grandpa Smurf must’ve gone on and on for centuries to collect so much data.”

“Uh-huh.”

Branch’s hand absently pats next to him for the basket of Smurfberries (surprisingly more delicious then he thought they would be) then upon his palm grasping a few, pops them in his mouth, then flips a page. “Then to think he had a hand in bringing down Pharynx. It almost sounds too heroic to be realistic.”

“Yeah, heroic, realistic, stuff.”

Branch excitedly laughs. “And then he traveled to the Daring Falls to search for a cure for the Smurf Pox? He sacrificed his beard and cap just to make sure his village received the remedy from Father Time? Seriously, what’s so valuable about your hats?”

“Magic void. . .” is what comes from Hefty’s drowsy self.

Branch is stretched out on his stomach with Hefty’s weight heavily draped across his thighs. Occasionally, Hefty would shift, getting cozier, but now, he’s taken to tucking his arms around Branch’s thighs and laid his head on Branch’s butt. He’d playfully exclaimed earlier that Branch’s butt really does make the best pillow. It’d been super uncomfortable having his legs held hostage, but after being so engulfed in reading, Branch just flowed with it.

Until now that is. Branch bookmarks his page with a finger. “Hefty?”

“Hmm?”

Branch struggles to turn in the Smurf’s strong grasp. “Legs can’t breathe dude.”

“S’not my fault,” Hefty says, cuddling closer. “Shouldn’t be so huggable.”

“I thought you were listening to me read.”

“I was.” Hefty grunts as he angles his head to see Branch looking at him from over his shoulder. “Papa Smurf told us all about Grandpa Smurf’s adventures. I can recite a few off the top of my head. His compromise with the Gorgons, how he helped stop the war between the Fairies and Elves, even how he saved a mermaid from pirates. His last adventure was gathering the Time Travel Crystals.”

Branch blinks, looks around at the towering shelves of books, then dubiously at Hefty. “You don’t have the slightest idea how incredibly radical those sound?”

“Not at all. Maybe it would be to anyone outside Smurf Village. But give it time, you’ll learn about it in another, what, fifty years?”

“Yeah, I’ll probably be ordering my first walking cane by then.”

Hefty immediately becomes quiet for far too long. As his warmth completely leaves Branch’s legs, the cold sets in fast. He sits up too, shrugging his shoulders in question at Hefty’s narrowed eyes.

“How old are you?” asks Hefty.

Branch lifts an eyebrow. “I turned twenty-four last autumn.”

Hefty’s eyes grow large. “Twenty-four. . .” he whispers, in wonder. “Trolls age. . . fast. You’re only twenty-four years old? You look like an adult.”

“Because I am.” Branch dampens, looking somberly at the book in his lap. “I read a book about how you guys aren’t really adults until you hit a hundred. How old are you exactly?”

Hefty licks his bottom lip, looking elsewhere too. “I’ll be a hundred and sixty-five on Smurf Day.”  

“Oh. . . so, how long does a Smurf live for?”

Hefty rubs behind his head, then draws his legs to his chest, hugging his arms around them. “No Smurf’s died as far as we know. Grandpa and Nanny Smurf are the oldest Smurfs around. They’re the first Smurfs to exist and they’re in their thousands.”

“How is that possible?”

Hefty shrugs. “None of us know. Only Grandpa and Papa know the truth. Something about an excursion they went on five hundred years ago, before any of us were brought to the village by the stork. It’s all Alchemist and Brainy could work out. . .” He closes his eyes, then softly says, “How long do trolls typically live for?”

“Well” Branch scratches behind his head. “I can’t say. When I was a trolling, an adult troll never lived long because. . . we would be hunted and eaten by Bergens.”

“Hunted? Eaten? Bergens?”

“Yeah. . .”

“What are Bergens?”

Branch glares up at him a moment. His expression softens, however. After all, he can’t blame Hefty for being inquisitive—he knows nothing of Branch’s past, or how traumatizing remembering those horrible days still torment Branch’s dreams to this day.

Now, sitting up with his legs out from under him, he opts to look at their length, knocking his feet together, with an expression that Hefty can only read as regret and fear.

“Vile, monstrous giants that lived off the misconception that their only means of ever becoming happy is by eating a troll.” After a brief silence, Branch focuses on the wall straight ahead, admiring the bookends made of marble stone, then he goes on to say. “They would host an annual holiday called Trollstice where every single Bergen in Bergen Town would be allowed to eat a troll each. It’s the only day of the year they’re ever happy. But as time went on Chef, the one in charge of cooking us, began to take trolls outside of that one day. It didn’t matter for what reason. The last time she’d taken a troll had been my—” Branch convulses and curls into himself. He wraps his arms around his head, rocking. “Oh God. . . _Grandma_.”

“Branch?” Hefty’s quickly moves to squat in front of the troll, grabbing his hands. “What happened? Your grandma?”

Branch tensed, like a snake coming to attention and his face froze. His expression twists, eyes screwing shut as he snatches away, raising one arm to cover his face and extending the other to shove Hefty back.

“Please, please get back,” he whispers. “Don’t touch me.”

“Branch—”

“All those times. I’d hear their screams,” Branch goes on to say like Hefty’s presence vanished. “Trollstice would come, they’d hide us in the grotto, then their screams would come. Families torn apart. The Bergens didn’t care. One by one they snatched us out of the Troll Tree!” He whimpers. “Why? We only wanted to be happy and they took our freedom, our right to live. They turned us into cattle, forcing us to breed and feed their damn stomachs. All because they’re too mindless and stupid to know that happiness isn’t something you eat—!”

Hefty pulls Branch into his arms. He flinches against the troll’s frantic scratching and punches in his stomach. Hefty holds him, and keeps on bracing against Branch’s assault until the punches become lighter, the growling lessens, and he goes limp as a helpless smurfling. Then Branch’s hands wedge between them to curl into Hefty’s chest and he finally, finally gets a grip on his breathing.

Hefty doesn’t mention the tears dripping down his chest. He imagines Branch doesn’t need a reminder of the rare time he allows himself to be so vulnerable around any smurf who isn’t Poppy.

And Branch can’t remember feeling as safe as he is now, cradled so secure in Hefty’s strong arms, sheltered by his body and warmth. With enormous effort that gradually, imperceptibly, stopped being effort and more trust, Branch embraces Hefty to him more and turns his face to lay his ear where a steady heartbeat pulses.

Oh, Hefty lost count of how many moments he wished Father Time would enchant to frame. Even if it’s a dire time, Hefty can’t stop relishing how wonderful it feels to have Branch nestled in his arms, hair oddly becoming another favorite part of him too as its taken to cradling Hefty’s shoulders like a second pair of arms.

Hefty rubs his nose through Branch’s hair and goofily grins. It smells like sugar and dirt. So heavenly. He gives himself a mental slap in the face to remember this isn’t the time to get all mushy.

Or. . . maybe not mushy. Perhaps Branch needs something else. . .

“Say,” Hefty eases back to look at Branch’s face. “I think I wanna see your smile.”

Branch shakes his head. “Don’t really feel like it right now.”

“Yeah, but it’ll make you feel a whole lot better.”

“I don’t want to smile, Hefty.”

Hefty smirks. “You either smile or I’ll have no choice but to bring out the worms.”

“The what?”

“These.” Hefty wiggles his fingers in the air between them, grinning deviously. “Don’t make me have to use them. These can be really lethal.”

Branch backs away. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Smile.”

“No.”

“Smile!”

“No—what are you doing!” Branch sidesteps when Hefty takes a jump towards him. “Did you knock a screw loose?”

“Smile!”

Branch dodges another attempt to grab him and backflips to the closest stairwell. “Hefty,” he warningly growls at Hefty’s crunching finger-gestures. “I swear if you’re tryin’ to do what I think—”

Hefty bounds to grab onto the railing, and swings himself on the same level as Branch. He creepily advances. “Trying to do what?”

“Make me kick you across the face!” Branch leaps over the rail and lands on the bottom floor, making a mad dash for the door.

That last action gets it’s intended response as Hefty acts fast and vanishes from his perch, reappearing to tackle Branch to the ground with one hand poise in the air. Branch screams. “Oh, please don’t. I’m sorry, don’t hurt me!” Branch waves his hands in front of himself, trembling.

Hefty’s eyes widen, and he actually hesitates. Branch pounces, whipping his legs out from under him by twisting his own around Hefty’s, then throws himself on top of the surprised Smurf. “Gotcha, sucker!”

Hefty snarls and the glance he shoots Branch was riddled with terror. “Branch,” he sneers, “don’t you dare!”

The troll’s grin could split his face. “Nah, I think I want to see you smile,” he says tauntingly wiggling his fingers. Then he clenches his knees around Hefty’s hips as he suddenly bucks. “Whoa!” Try as he might, he can’t keep his grip and manages to get himself sent tumbling to the side.

Hefty takes the opportunity to reverse their positions. He cracks a large, feral grin. Dread sinks in Branch’s belly sharp and fierce because he knew where this was going when Hefty’s hands come down on Branch’s sides and hurriedly flitter up and down. The freaking, evil Smurf was casting the dastardliest tickle attack and Branch is powerless to stop his assault.

All he can do is shriek and scream and howl with laughter. He hated Hefty so much, it isn’t fair for the Smurf to be this strong and merciless with those big hands.

“Stop!” Branch cries. “Stop, stop, I give up!”

Hefty evilly laughs. “Nope, not gonna make it easy for ya. I wanna see that gorgeous smile!”

Branch’s upper torso turns and bends in every imaginable direction. “I’m s-smiling! See, I’m freaking smiling!” His sides, they’re his weakness. Not even the soles of his feet can render him this helpless. “Get off, you big blue doofus!”

“Those be mean words there, Troll Boy.” Hefty stalls, eyes rolled up, seeming to think it over. “Nope, now I want a smile _and_ an apology.”

“Fat chance!”

Hefty shrugs. “Oh well.” The tickling resumes. In fact, it escalates.

“You jerk!” Branch screeches. He jerks and squirms, punching at Hefty’s thighs, but it’s no use. He’s just too strong. Tears pour from his eyes and his chest aches from screaming and laughing so hard. Any longer and he’ll have a heart attack. And then, the answer stupidly appears in his head like a light bulb. This position is perfect.  

“Fine,” he grumbles between chuckles. “You want to play rough? Let’s do it!”

Hefty frowns at him, but it’s far too late to rethink a strategy now. Branch’s hair slings forward, grabbling both of Hefty’s wrists and cuffs them above his head. Hefty freezes and that’s when Branch slips his hips free and uses hair and his hands to move up and down Hefty’s bare sides like playing a piano, mouth curved into a wicked smirk, eyes thin with vengeance.

Hefty copes longer then Branch does, but he eventually succumbs to the attack and crumbles on his back, laughing hysterically. It’s the greatest thing ever. Branch works his way onto Hefty’s waist, anchoring him in place with his thighs and continues wildly gliding his fingers wherever he can find blue skin.

“Ha, not so tough now, huh?” Branch victoriously growls. “No mercy!” He can feel every groove of Hefty’s ribs as he twists and squirms, trying to shake the troll off.

“OK, OK, OK, you win!” Hefty’s voice almost hit a new high note. “I give!”

Branch tickles for as long as he can before deciding that Hefty got his just desserts. “There, how you like them apples, pal!” he muses, panting.

Hefty wheezes, having just as much trouble catching his breath. He stretches when his hands are freed. “I . . . I keep forgetting how useful. . . that hair of yours is. . .”

And it slowly, gradually dawns on Branch just what kind of position they’re in and his ears burn for an entirely different reason. To save face, he keeps tickling, but the playfulness turns into something less playful, more teasing. Something like a solid ball of liquid fire pools in his belly. Before he knows what is happening, his fingers slow, and he begins to aimlessly wander along Hefty’s ribs in a less assaulting manner. They’re lightly tracing over smooth skin, taut muscles and each one reacts to his fingertips grazing their bulbous shape.

He’s overtaken by all this power panned out beneath him, these muscles, how they flex upon contact and stretch and dip and curve—

Hefty’s hand seizes Branch’s when they reach his pectorals. Branch’s eyes snap up. Hefty pushes himself up, the motion gently guiding Branch into his lap, and Hefty curls his legs under him.

Branch blanches, searching through the emotion filling Hefty’s eyes, so much of it spiraling in those bright blue depths, Branch drowns it in. He can’t escape, and feels himself teetering forward with only one foot to balance on. Then a summoning burning flares, this need to figure it out, to read more into it.

But Branch knows all too well that in this situation, it’ll be something regretful.

So, he sits there, lowering his gaze, trying in vain to ignore the innocent, raw feelings open to him. There’s so much it in; with Hefty’s set jaw, wonder and awe reflecting and swimming like shadows beneath an ocean.

“Stop it,” he says.

“Stop what?” says Hefty, softly.

“Staring at me like that.”

“Why?”

“Because. . . you’re makin’ me feel trapped,” Branch whispers. At the sight of Hefty’s brave, loving face, something inside Branch begins to weaken. He shakes his head wildly, getting up to his knees and turning Hefty’s face to look at him deeply. “How can you look at me like I’m—I’m that precious tiara on a pillow?”

“’Cause you are,” Hefty says simply. “I don’t know when, but you’ve began to matter to me more than anything.”

Branch sighs. Shifting around to kneel in front of him, not even caring that he is cradled in Hefty’s legs, Branch wounds his arms around Hefty’s neck and rests their foreheads together. Noses touching, breaths mingling, this close, there is no way Hefty can deny how unalike they are. “Don’t you remember all the stuff we just talked about? We’re too different, you and me.”

“I don’t care.”

“Hefty—”

“You’re a Troll, I’m a Smurf, so what?”

Branch huffs a small, depreciating laugh. “That being the main there. There’s this whole intermingling of species thing to consider too. And we live so far apart. You’ve got a long life to live—”

“I’ll take what I can get,” Hefty whispers, and Branch feels the sudden catch of fingers against the small of his back. Just touching him, warmth seeping through his skin. “I would rather spend the rest of my years alone, then suffer a single day never knowing what it’s like to-to love you, Branch.”

And . . . and there it is, that emotion that’d been wavering like flames in Hefty’s eyes. Only, they’d intensified and flourished, shining as brilliant as first morning light. It’s just for Branch, only Branch. They’ve come so far, so fast. Somewhere along the way Branch has stopped viewing Hefty as a friend or associate or anything. It didn’t take long for so much to change. It isn’t some kind of strange, bizarre crush or freaky attraction. Branch, for better or worse, just wants to dig his fingers into Hefty and never let go.

Maybe, just maybe, for all that’s changed in the two weeks they’ve been together, Hefty’s contagious selfless heroism and kindness rubbed off on Branch. This dumb, charming Smurf with his naivety, straight-forward-and-to-the-point charge about life. He’s knocked all of Branch’s expectations for a routine life out of balance. To live trouble free, humble and without a pinch of trouble.

Hefty’s going to guarantee none of that happens.

“You’re serious,” Branch says uncertainly.

“More than I have about anything in my whole life.” As he says that, Hefty’s fingers twine around a lock of hair and gently tugs it. Grimacing at the small pain, Branch levels a look at the Smurf whose gaze is intently fixed on the hair ribboned between his fingers. When he looks back at Branch, there’s a fierceness there that matches what he possessed the day he took on Azrael. “I’ll do whatever it takes to make you believe me—”

“I do,” Branch cuts in, panicking and too overwhelmed to realize what he’s doing. “I do.” He leans in and kisses him.

Hefty goes rigid for one still second of shock and in that second, the troll’s lips tremble and he braces himself for the shove that sends him away; cuts off the small connection Branch uses to hang on to his sanity.

Because Branch doesn’t have an excuse of extenuating circumstances to explain his way out of needing to kiss Hefty Smurf.  It’s just—him, being a desperate fool, searching for clarity and something else. So, with his eyes closed tightly, he waits for the inevitable.

It comes.

The long fingers in his back steer him forward, just as the ones in his hair tug sharply, the mouth below his opens—and Hefty kisses him back.

For a single, stunning moment, there is just sweet need and a devouring ache in Branch’s chest that unwinds by slow degrees, a mouth that moves against his in small, careful presses. . . and the simultaneous tightening where neither is sure who brings who closer.

Long arms drag his trembling body forward, flush to a wall of hard strength as Branch’s breaths become erratic, desperate to Hefty’s relentless clinging. Their kisses turn to brushes between shaking breaths, meeting and lingering with an air of _‘finally’_ keeping them glued together. 

Branch is lightheaded from the surge of passion when he widens his mouth and Hefty greedily intertwines their tongues. The strokes lap with delicate inexperience, tasting and darting back into Branch’s mouth as if to not overstay his welcome. But Branch savors every bit of it with patience and ease and so much thrill. He’s never felt so cherished and wanted. . .  

And one thing is becoming abundantly clear the more Branch sinks into Hefty’s warmth.

The foot keeping him centered has slipped.

And he’s falling. . . falling with no direction or fear.

Because he can see Hefty with open arms, ready to catch him.

“You sure this is the right thing to do, Farmer?”

“Sure, I’m sure. Ya saw what done happened ta poor Clumsy. We c’n’t take any chances.”

Handy wrings the wrench in his hands. Yeah, he saw what happened to Clumsy all right. Poor Smurf looked more worn then a pair of old work gloves, bleeding and bruised. It twisted Handy’s insides something awful to see his brother so battered in Vanity’s arms. Clumsy doesn’t have a violent bone in his body and to find out that the ones responsible were trolls? It just doesn’t seem right.

Branch and Poppy don’t fit the description of what Vanity spoke of about the ones who attacked Clumsy. They seem like alright folks by him.

A rough elbow to the gut jogs Handy out of his mental struggle. Farmer shakes his head disapprovingly. “D’n’t go getting’ all soft on me, ya hear? That’s family and family comes before a pair of purdy faces!”

“But don’t you think we’re being hasty? Branch and Poppy never did us any wrong. Why we gotta treat them like this?”

“Until we figure out what in the Smurfin’ Hill is goin’ on, we gotta do what’s best for the village.” Farmer proudly stamps his pitch fork next to him, switching his hay straw to the other side of his mouth. He then sighs, shoulders deflating of their confidence. “Such a cryin’ shame too. I kinda liked them.”

Handy nods. He definitely does. Branch may be hard to get close to, but he’s an easy guy once you get around his walls. And Poppy, Poppy is the prettiest, most amazing girl he’s ever lain eyes on. Nothing about her screams traitor. She’s too free spirited, caring, charming, with the most colorful disposition this side of Smurf Village.

Handy quietly tilts his cap forward just above his eyes, inwardly hoping he’s about to do the right thing. He thinks better of showing up with his weapon and stuffs his wrench in his back pocket.

He and Farmer found out from Tailor Smurf that Poppy had gone to Smurfette’s Mushroom for tea. Here it is early evening, the girls are probably having an enjoyable time and he’s about to ruin it. Nothing screams villain more than being reduced to this.

He inhales and exhales, raising his hand to knock in the same breath. Farmer shifts next to him, laying a supportive hand on his shoulder.

Smurfette comes to the door with her hair neatly plaited in a thick braid over her shoulder. “Oh, hi Farmer, Handy, how are you?”

Farmer politely removes his straw hat. So does Handy, though he isn’t able to speak or look in Smurfette’s kind eyes the way Farmer can.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Smurfette, we know it’s awful rude to come a’ knockin’ so late, but we were wonderin’ if Poppy’s in wit’cha?”

“Yes, we’re having tea.” Smurfette steps to the side. “Do you two want to join us?”

“Sorry ma’am, we aren’t here for pleasantries.” Farmer puts his hat back on, and brings his pitch fork forward.

Smurfette grasps the door, becoming visibly concerned. “Is everything OK?”

“’Fraid not. Clumsy was attacked earlier. S’ hurtin’ pretty bad.”

“Oh my!” Her hands fly to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. “That’s terrible. Poor Clumsy. What happened? Is he alright? Was it Gargamel?”

“N-no,” Handy eventually musters up the courage to answer, looking saddened. “Not Gargamel or Azrael. . .”

“Then who?”

“Well—”

A whirlwind of pink comes sprinting out of nowhere and constricts around Smurfette’s midsection. Poppy’s head appears with her hair parted into four sections, each a long draping braid similar to Smurfette’s.  “Handy!” she dashes forward to wrap her arms around his neck, squealing. “Glad you could come. We just finished doing each other’s hair. Oh, you’re Farmer, right?” Poppy goes to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you. You two should come in. We have extra cucumber sandwiches and tea for like ten Smurfs!”

“Poppy, hold on,” Handy tries, but Poppy’s already shooting back inside the mushroom, pulling Smurfette along with her.

Smurfette tugs back. “Poppy, wait, please. We need to get to Clumsy right away!”

Poppy energy evaporates when she regards Smurfette’s demeanor more closely. Then notes the change in atmosphere. “Oh.” She clears her throat. “What’s wrong with Clumsy?”

“He was attacked,” whimpers Smurfette. “I want to go see him.”

Poppy squeezes her hand. “Of course. I’ll go with you.”

“No, you won’t.”

Poppy and Smurfette look at Farmer Smurf confused by his disdained tone.

“Sorry ta’ do this to ya in our dark hour, but Poppy’s gotta be taken to the Confinement Mushroom.”

Smurfette’s face goes pale as salt. “W-why? I don’t understand—”

“We’ll explain on the way there—”

“You’ll explain it to me right here.” Smurfette glances between the Smurfs, instinctively shoving Poppy behind her. “Or I’ll have to ask you both to leave."

Farmer shakes his head. “Nuthin’ doin’ ma’am. Orders are orders, and they’re to take Branch and Poppy ta’ the Confinement Mushroom.”

“But,” Poppy sadly looks between them, hurt. “Why? I didn’t do anything.”

“We know,” says Handy, cautiously holding out his hands. “None of us think ya’ll are guilty of anything.”

“Then why arrest us?”

“For your safety,” Handy softly reasons, feeling more and more ashamed. He glances away, closing his eyes. “You know I would give more than anything to not have to do this to you guys. Especially you Poppy.”

Smurfette narrows her eyes, keeping a firmer hold on Poppy’s arm.

Poppy touches Smurfette’s hand, and eases from her side.

“Poppy—”

“It’s OK, Smurfette.” Poppy stops in front of Handy, taking his hands. “Aren’t we friends?”

Handy locks eyes with her as he squeezes their joined hands. “Of course, we are Poppy. Please believe me when I say I don’t think you’re guilty of anything.”

Poppy smiles and touches his cheek. “Then that’s all I need.” She turns to Smurfette. “I’ll go to keep down confusion. Whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’ll be hashed out soon.”

“No!” Smurfette snatches Poppy to her. “If you take her, you’ll have to take me too.”

Handy glares. “Don’t make this any harder then it needs to be, Smurfette.”

“I wouldn’t if you weren’t doing this. What could Poppy have possibly done to deserve this?”

“Not her, but others like her,” Farmer ominously informs. “Trolls. They’re the ones who attacked Clumsy.”

The girls gasp. Poppy’s heart threatens to gallop through her chest. “The others,” she murmurs. “They tracked us all the way out here. Oh no, I don’t believe.” Poppy runs a quivering hand through her banes. “Oh Dad, the village, how could I have stay away so long and . . . and . . .”

Smurfette cradles the troll’s head to her chest. “There, there, sweetie. You're safe here. I won’t let them come near you,” her voice tampers with a determined sneer.

“No, Smurfette, please.” Poppy clutches Smurfette’s arm. “I need to go to them. Handy, help me, I need to see my people.”

“No can-do ma’am,” says Farmer, popping his pitch fork. “We’re s’pposed ta’ take ya in.”

“You don’t get it. I need to reach Creek before things get out of hand.”

“Might be a tad late fer that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vanity told me by the time he made it to da’ edge of the village he could hear them all scrappin’ like rabid wolves—”

All the color washes from Poppy’s hair and face. “They’re fighting. . .” She gulps. “I have to get to them.” Poppy makes to run past, but Farmer’s hand blocks her path.

“Sorry ma’am, but I can’t let ya go. Nuthin’ personal.”

“You have to!” Poppy begs. “Smurfs will get hurt if I don’t go.”

Farmer’s face hardens. “Don’t go underestimatin’ us Smurfs. We’re tougher then we look.”

Poppy pleadingly looks at him. She’s only met with a solid wall of rejection. She folds her arms around her torso, swaying. Handy comes to her side to catch her in the same moment Smurfette moves to grab her by the arm.

They don’t get it. None of them will. . . not until Creek begins to get serious. There’s a reason why King Peppy appointed him as Poppy’s personal body guard. . .

 


	12. Black and Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FREAKING FINALLY!!! I am so very sorry for the incredibly long wait guys. I had such a horrible writer's block, but it's broken thanks to the awesome PriestessofNox, Kinohayashi and Tealbull81. My darlings, I love, love, love you guys so much. Everyone, please enjoy the chapter and excuse any mistakes.

**Black and Blue**

The situation has deteriorated into pure pandemonium. At any given time, it was difficult to specifically discern who has the greater advantage. The Trolls, while lacking in the physical strength and bulk the Smurfs possessed, have agility, and nimble dexterity, proficient in not only utilizing their four limbs, but their hair as a powerful weapon. They can fend off most attacks and avoid engaging in close combat to avoid capture.

As some of them have come to realize, being held down by a Smurf, they’re as good as done for when their hits connect.

As for the Smurfs, their overwhelming quantity and capricious natures, make it challenging to predict their next move. While they all resembled one another, not a single one fought like the other. They only shared a singular trait in their combative skills and that’s pure, raw power. Escaping to the trees aids the Trolls somewhat, but the Smurfs can match their sudden ascends by literal leaps and bounds.

By now, much of the chaos appears to be everyone involving themselves in wholesome destruction. For every Troll, there are three or four Smurfs they take on their own.

Somewhat surprisingly, the initial dominance begins to sway in the Trolls’ favor. As they discover the real threats, the lead Trolls summon a partner and converge on the Smurfs they have the best chance of taking down. That meant sacrificing Creek, Aspen, Flint, Smidge, DJ Suki and Guy Diamond on the blue warriors positioned on the front line.

The rest of the Trolls will hold off the rest of the lesser Smurfs until Creek has the chance to strategize on a better plan. One that hopefully will resolve this mayhem sooner rather than later.

However, for every contingency plan Creek develops, he’s quickly countered by the blue creature’s overbearing tenacity and brute force. Over and over he’s having to take coercive measures just to avoid an upset from his team’s side. Reducing the creature’s numbers by simply knocking them out doesn’t work. They get right back up.

Creek, Aspen, Flint, Smidge, DJ Suki, and Guy Diamond all have randomly paired up to the one’s closest to their location and took on a Smurf. Creek and DJ Suki tauntingly coerced a couple of the Smurfs into an open space for combat, but then things change. Instead of luring away just two or three Smurfs, they’re singled out and driven into a closed off sector surrounded by thick shrubbery and a massive tree.

“There’s too many,” DJ Suki sneers near Creek’s ear. “What’s their deal? Why do they think it’ll take five to take us on?”

“They can spare the numbers,” says Creek, surveying their setting for an outlet. They’re far from stupid. Each Smurf’s taken a tactical position where their bodies evenly cover enough space for them to move around, but not enough for the Trolls to make an easy escape. Fast dashes are out of the question and with the enemy this close, Creek knows they won’t be able to propel themselves into the tree without being attacked.

There’s no element of surprise.

There’s no possibility of a direct strike without being immediately swarmed.

And there’s the chance that they may try to take Creek hostage. By now it’s become apparent he’s the ringleader of the whole operation. It’s probably why they’ve been targeted. If that’s their aim, Creek needs to avoid capture. Not that he doesn’t trust any of the other Trolls to step up and fill his place, but he’s the only one with the tactical sense and strategic training and experience to act in a speedy manner. His recovery from a dire situation is unmatched with the group he has organized. The only other troll who is as equipped to govern a militant charge is currently being imprisoned with their princess.

Or at least in theory they’re here. They don’t have the resources to confirm they’re still here. Only a mention from Guy Diamond that the Smurf-things had imprisoned them and there’s no telling if they’re still in the village or have been transported elsewhere. He wishes Guy could have gotten a little more information to work with. Creek would know how best to act from there.

His mind’s been working out countless scenarios per incident. The current one, he’s figured up four different outcomes, with half of them being causing necessary injury and the other half involving false surrender and a risky escape. It’d be easier if he didn’t have DJ Suki’s wellbeing to care about, but he does. That leaves him to figure up branched-off plans from the contingencies and ideas from those.

Within the quick minutes of the standoff between them and the Smurfs, Creek has made up his mind. He has several plans hovering in his thoughts—newer ones from the previous—and they only require the presence of a reality to make them spring into focus. All he needs to do is have one of the Smurfs attack first, then he can know which plan is needed.

Creek subtly brushes a tendril of his hair into a dread of DJ Suki’s and individually tangles the thin strands. Each microscopic tug relays a Hair Morse Code he’s thankful she’s fluid in. DJ Suki keeps her face neutral and touches the tip of Creek’s elbow to convey her understanding.

“Alright,” Creek whispers. “On my signal, we’ll charge the blokes to the right. They’re liable to break ranks first.”

“Why?”

“That one hasn’t stopped flinching. The one to the right of him keeps checking over his shoulder. They have the weakest defense.”

“Got’cha!”

One of the Smurfs dressed in a white vest, a gold medallion around his neck and a lopsided cap, raises his fist. “Dabbler, Woolly,” he snaps towards the two flanking his left. “Close in the side. “Panicky, Pushover, hold position.” The speaker takes three bold steps forward with the other two supporting his unguarded sides.

Creek holds from reacting right away.

The speaker stops a few paces short of arm’s reach and folds his arms. “I’m not all for the unnecessary violence and mayhem, strangers. State your business for invading our territory and we’ll go easy on you. Refuse, and well, I can’t be responsible for what happens to you and your clan next.”

“That’s mighty presumptuous of you,” says Creek. “Perhaps we’re looking at two different fights. Seems awfully one-sided from my perspective”

“We’re holding back only because Papa Smurf doesn’t allow us to use our full strength. We’re forbidden from ever going all-out unless he permits it. The situation hardly calls for such drastic measures. If this is the best your kind’s capable of, you’re better off surrendering.”

“Ha!” barks DJ Suki. “As if we’ll give up. You really think we’ve been takin’ you losers seriously? Not for real, for real. None of you are worth the real effort. We’re saving up the energy to take out your leaders.”

The speaker narrows his eyes dangerously. “So that’s what this is? Some smurfing poor kidnapping crusade? You’re after our Papa?!”

“We don’t want your stupid, Papa. You kidnapped our friends!”

“Excuse me? You mean the smurfing idiots who infiltrated our village?!”

Not the exact distraction Creek had in mind, but it works just as good. A strip of hair brushes the small of DJ Suki’s back and the action quickly spurs her into action. The two Smurfs left to guard the flank are startled by the rapid motion. Only one of them takes a fighter’s stance and the other frantically cowers to the ground. Creek pulls the punch he intended for that one and swirls to drive three neat strikes to the Smurf’s shoulder, head and stomach. DJ Suki wraps her hair around the cowering creature and draws him flat to the ground and slams her foot into the center of his back.

The pair take off.

DJ Suki doesn’t make it five steps before she’s snatched by the hair and drawn back into a strong chest and two large arms encircle her middle. The squeeze to come is a suffocating grasp, forcing up strangled gasps and chokes. Creek keeps the momentum going and rounds in a half circle, summoning four long, thick plaits of hair and quickly wraps them around the remaining Smurfs’ necks.

With slightly labored grunts, Creek hoists his captives off the ground and closes off their windpipes.  “I doubt it’ll take much to see who has the bigger advantage,” Creek growls and squeezes tighter, wringing a chorus of whimpers and croaks.

“Don’t show these jackasses any mercy, Creek!” shouts DJ Suki and he inwardly cringes, wishing she’d keep her mouth shut. “I’ll die for my princess. I’ll die for my friends!”

“Shut up!” the Smurf snaps. “Let them go first!”

“You’re in no position to bargain, my friend. Release her now or else.”

He gauges Creek closely, sneaking worried glances at the ones in Creek’s hold. “Fine,” the Lead Smurf snarls and throws DJ Suki to the ground. “She’s free. Now let my brothers go!”

Creek waits until DJ Suki’s scrambles to his side before tossing each Smurf to the other’s feet. He snatches DJ Suki by the hand and sprints to the middle of the battlefield without a backwards glance.

One crisis averted, Creek rendezvous with Flint and Guy Diamond where they’ve managed to subdue several of the creatures and tie them down.

“Are you alright?” Guy Diamond asks the pair, notably DJ Suki.

She flexes her chest and torso. “I’ve been better. Might have a fractured a rib,” she cradles her side and shakes her head. “Didn’t realize it until just now.”

“That’s freakin’ great,” grouches Flint. “So, we’re down five Trolls?”

Creek palms over DJ Suki’s side. She flinches, biting back a groan. He sighs. The area’s already discoloring. It’s broken. “Status report?” he directs to Guy Diamond.

The glittery troll nods towards the upper canopy. “Smidge is keeping security over the injured. Aspen’s got a broken foot. Diego’s unconscious. We aren’t too sure about Petal’s condition. She’s been roughened up bad. Counting Smidge and DJ, that’s five out of commission.”

“Don’t be stupid, I can still fight!” DJ Suki visibly winches when stretching out her arm.

Creek steadies her by the bicep. “You’ll be no good to us if you injure yourself further. If you want to help so badly, give the rest of us peace of mind by sitting this out.”

“But I wanna help.”

Creek rolls his eyes, gently ushering her away. “Darling, have a care for my blood pressure. Go to Smidge and we’ll catch up with you from there.”

DJ Suki mocks him, grumbling and discreetly merges into the shadows, hurrying for the hideaway.

Creek faces the other two angrily. “Did you get the ones responsible for the damage?”

Flint shakes his head. “Not the way I wanted to. There’s three of ‘em. Some really tough bastards, too.”

“Where are they?”

“Not far,” answers Guy Diamond. “We need a firm plan for this trio. They’re don’t fight like the others.”

“Fine.” Creek motions for the two to follow his lead. “Rally on me in ten minutes after we’ve managed to check on the others. Scatter the masses as much as you can. Do whatever’s necessary to keep this fight on our side.”

“You got it!”

"Roger!"

Poppy wishes she could put up more of a fight. Part of her wants so much to join her people and put a cease to the bloodshed. But on the other hand, she knows trying to escape will further ruin the fragile relationship she and Branch managed to establish between them and the Smurfs.

It shouldn’t matter nearly as much as it does, but things have changed.

She and Branch. . . they’ve both gone beyond friendship terms. She hasn’t quite worked up the courage to tell Smurfette how she feels about her yet, but the clues couldn’t be more obvious. Poppy isn’t sure where Branch and Hefty stand in their own thing, but if Hefty’s surprise is a success, she’ll bet beech nuts to cupcakes that they’ve made it official.

Which only heightens her need to get involved and demand a ceasefire. Creek isn’t the sort of troll to wait to gather the facts when it comes to hostage situations. He wasn’t trained to behave like that. As far as she knows, Creek will treat this ordeal like she and Branch are being held against their will and only if he sees for himself that they’re alright will he concede and negotiate peacefully.

That’s why she so desperately wants to reach them, especially him. Poppy doesn’t doubt the Smurf’s strength. Hefty’s revealed a lot of what they’re capable of. But Creek isn’t to be underestimated either. He’ll kill for the Trolls if driven to that point.

And that’s what she wants to avoid at all costs. If it reaches the boiling point—God, she just doesn’t want to imagine the calamity to unfold.

For the third time Poppy glances over her shoulder at the dull bluster and rumbles coming from the distance where the fight’s taking place. Even in the middle of the evening, she can make out the shadows of bodies overlapping one another in violent combat.

“Keep going, Poppy,” Handy softly orders, with a hand to the small of her back, when she stalls. “There’s nothing you can do. Yer better off being—”

“Locked away?”

Handy presses his mouth together tight. “I don’t want this for ya anymore than you do, but ya gotta see what it looks him from our point of view.”

“You have to know we never meant any harm towards the Smurfs, Handy.” Poppy wraps her arms around her torso, eyes never straying from the battle, trembling too badly to stand fully erect. “I really loved being around you guys. You’re so much like my people, I felt like I’d never left home.”

“I enjoyed havin’ you and Branch here too. . . Especially,” Handy swallows thickly, looking away, “especially you, Poppy. Havin’ you around here has been like having my own personal sunshine.”

“You,” Poppy breathes, turning away from the scene for the first time to fully face Handy’s gentle eyes, the blazing emotions sifting in them. “Oh Handy, I don’t. . .” She inhales deeply and lets it out a low rush. “If you care about me,” she tries and to her amazement, it achieves the reaction she wishes wasn’t there, “please let me go stop this.”

“Poppy, you know I can’t—”

Poppy leans into the hand supporting her and grimaces as she turns into his chest, pressing her face where his heart throbs at a radical pace. “Please, Handy,” she whispers. “Please, I don’t want anything happen to you. Say it’s my fault. Say I escaped, anything.”

Handy tremors with shuddering resolve as his arms rise and fall to embrace Poppy close to his body. “I hate to see you hurtin’ like this.”

“You can fix this.”

“You’re askin’ a lot of me.”

“I’m sorry to put so much on your shoulders.” Poppy nuzzles her cheek between the buttons on his overalls so the material’s brushed aside and her cheek’s lain flush over his throbbing heartbeat. “You have no idea how much this will mean to me if you help me, Handy.”

Poppy’s hands grip agitatedly into his strips and tugs, hair wavering out of the bound braids and into a sheet of listless strands around her shoulders, avoiding Handy’s eyes. Tears streak her cheeks and make her feel like crawling into the deepest hole for being reduced to this. How cruel, how evil, how—

A gentle, calloused palm grips her chin and tilts it up. Poppy jumps in surprise and simply stares against her will. So many feelings careen before her from him. Handy’s coming so close. What’s he doing? Those gorgeous blue eyes, just as pearly luster and glossed like Smurfette’s, are suddenly so soft and concerned.

His body edges closer, closing off any space that may have been left between them. Finally, his head leans in, his lips part and Poppy stops breathing.

“You let me regret this, I’ll _never_ forgive,” Handy says slowly, words free of his accent.

Poppy could do nothing, but stare helplessly. Handy’s really going to let her go? He’s giving her a chance? It’s almost too good to be true. Poppy blinks the blur of tears huddled along her eyelids and leans forward very carefully, tip toeing up.

Her lips lay firm, sweet and long on his cheek.

There’s a long pause before Handy squeezes her to the brink of suffocation. Poppy let’s out her breath with a long swoosh as fresh tears fall down her face. “Thank you, Handy. Thank you!”

“I mean it, Poppy,” Handy rumbles.

Poppy nods, just grateful, forever grateful to this Smurf for his selflessness. “I know,” she says, voice muffled by Handy’s chest. “I know.”

Handy pulls out of the embrace first, making Poppy look up at him. Feeling so overwhelmed with happiness that it feels like it’ll burst from her chest, Poppy boldly puts her arms around Handy’s neck, stands to the very tips of her toes and their lips meet.

It’s brief; a simple brush is all she meant to give, but Handy sinks into it and the gentle pressure is firm and probing. For him, it’s as if he’s a starved creature finally stumbling upon the purest oasis. His mouth floods with her rare sweetness. His stomach’s full of curdled warmth, explosively moving from there and throughout his chest.

Poppy puts a hand to his chest to lever herself as she pulls free, eyes enormous, mind fuzzy. “I. . .”

“Oh. . . I’m. . .” Sorry?  He’ll be lying if he said he is. Handy loosens his hold on her and gives her and himself some much-needed space. “You should go.”

“Y-yeah” Poppy poises a step back looking so startled and frightened and shamed. “T-Thank you.” She spins her heel and charges off into the darkness with a hand over her pulsating heart and the other cleaning the fresh bout of tears streaming from her eyes.

What on earth just happened. . . Why did she let it happen?

Poppy shakes her head and mends her heart’s shattered bits just enough to prepare her for the battle ahead. Her conflictions can wait. She has a battle to stop.

The first instant the ringleaders can break away from the fight, Flint, Guy Diamond and Creek rendezvous in the shadows, blending into the shrubbery.

Unfortunately, it appears the strongest trio of Smurfs have torn themselves from the group to speak on similar matters; if their hurried scrabbling and gestures are anything to go by.

Creek narrows his eyes. “The clean face one with the permanent scowl, I’ll take him.”

“Fair enough,” scoffs Flint, cracking his knuckles. “Lemme have the fur face. I’m sick of his smack talk.”

“Fine, that leaves the one with the ribbon around his brow to me,” Guy Diamond confirms with a sigh. “I still say we should reconsider our approach. Violence isn’t always the answer. Poppy wouldn’t want this.”

Creek breathes softly, pressing the heel of his palm into his forehead. “Until the princess and Branch are safely secure, I don’t see much choice. These barbaric things will sooner throw a punch then listen to reason. You tried that, remember?”

“Yeah, but—”

“And if I had been wiser, I would have knocked those two sentries out before they could shoot off that blasted signal. Diplomacy is hardly an option now.”

“We sure as Hell aren’t getting squat down sitting here either,” Flint growls and surges to his feet. “We have our assignments. Unless you want to modify them, we should act while we still have the upper hand!”

“Don’t go barging in until you have backup in position.” Creek shoots the dark purple troll a glare. “Work together. You’re not going to be able to take that brute down on your own—”

Flint loudly sighs. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He takes off along the grass-line until the darkness swallows him.

Guy Diamond shakes his head. “I hope his bullheaded ways don’t get someone in trouble.”

Creek shares his sentiments but can’t spare the time to speak on it. He sends Guy Diamond on his way to confront the targeted blue creature while Creek slinks into the underbrush until finding a sizable tree. He scales up the side until he reaches a vantage point to survey the battle in its entirety. His opponent, while brutish and strong, is wild and more violent then the rest. Creek witnessed him sling Trolls with minimal effort and no remorse for inflicting injuries.

Creek chose him specifically because he too won’t show mercy. Killing is off limits until he is left without any other choice. But he will certainly make the fool wish he was dead when he’s done with him.

It’s all in the timing. Where is the most suitable spot to ambush one of these creatures without noisily alerting the rest. One swift strike to the back of the neck should do the trick. And Creek is inwardly hoping that they’re vulnerable around that area because having gone toe-to-toe with a couple of these blue creatures has proven that they’re made of stuff much, much tougher than a Trolls’.

Well, he’ll find out just how tough the blokes are. . .

He just needs to be patient and wait for the right moment to directly see how strong these Smurf-things are.

Branch attacks Hefty’s mouth like it’s a mandatory requirement to his breathing.

The sinfully handsome Smurf rumbles deep in his throat, the sound a low timbre in his chest as he pulls the troll into his lap and they tumble backwards, flat to the floor. His stubby fingers tangle and claw desperately into stalks of soft dark hair. He meets Branch’s bobbing head with as much vigor, unable to fathom how he could have gone his entire life without having ever known a taste this immense and thick with an indescribable flavor. 

Branch’s body is tense still, as if he’s waiting for the moment when his guard is at its lowest and he’s driven back out of this dreamy moment and cast away for being so foolish and needy and downright devouring. Hefty stays fluid in the flow keeping pace to Branch’s more experienced lips and Branch is gradually weakened into a more languid frenzy.

How could he have gone this long being around this Smurf and never realizing what kissing him what do to his psyche? Kissing Hefty’s unlike anything he’s ever had the pleasure of savoring; as if the satisfaction of mingling the different textures of their tongues, his own swirling around the inside of Hefty’s oddly blunt, straight teeth, will never, ever be enough to please him.

It’s as if his heart and mind have left his body to cling to Hefty and never let go.  

Branch tears his mouth a smidge away to breath in Hefty’s air, and just a hint away from their lips tore completely free of each other and he gazes with resolved excitement and thrill at the way Hefty’s eyes seem enamored for only him. He chuckles and kisses Hefty’s nose and both cheeks.

“Too fast?” he whispers in between pants.

“No way,” Hefty roughly answers, buzzed senseless by their kiss. “I’m drownin’ in ya.” He grabs at Branch’s face and steers him in to rest their foreheads together. “You ever experience somethin’ so crazy awesome and wonder how you’ve gone your whole life never knowin’ how you lived without it?”

Branch’s smile shuts his eyes. “Not until today, not until now.” His smile widens. Branch never though it could and still feel so soft on his face.

Hefty’s hand shifts to cradle Branch’s cheek, thumb sweeping over the way it shapes his pretty troll face and the slight evidence of fuzz tickling his fingers.  Branch leans in to press his lips on the thumb and gives it a kittenish lick. The world’s become a bluster of blurry happiness and coziness breaming to the tippy top of his throat.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to live another day without ya, Branch.”

Branch’s smile wans. “Don’t say that.”

Hefty rises to coax Branch into rolling on his back and Hefty wedges his hips between the troll’s thighs and lays his ear to Branch’s chest. “M’just tellin’ the truth. Ya mean so much ta’ me. Feels like I’m suffocating.” He grabs Branch’s wrist and brings it to lay on his chest, crushing the small fingers there so Branch has no choice but to feel every word through the pulse in Hefty’s heart. “See what you’re doin’ to me?” he chuckles.

“I know you can hear what _you’re_ doing to _me_. I’m not exactly cool and collected here.”

Hefty hums, nodding his cheek against the hot flesh pressing to his face. “What is it about ya, Branch, that makes me love you so much?”

Branch links their hands together and lifts them to his mouth. “I dunno. Still tryin’ to figure out that scary part. You’re either crazy or. . .” he quiets, ears flicking upward and towards the door.

“I’m what?”

Branch lays a finger to Hefty’s mouth. Branch listens again and knows he heard a loud thud. He opens his mouth to ask if Hefty’s heard it, but he’s suddenly rocked off his axis when his finger is suddenly engulfed by wet heat and a slow, deliberate suck. Branch’s focus dissolves to ashes. His head drops flat to the ground as two more fingers are draw into Hefty’s mouth and blasts of colors and sparkles blotch Branch’s vision.  

“Don’t go ignorin’ me,” Hefty growls around the fingers and gives them each a teasing suck before dragging his body up to align with Branch’s. “I have your attention now?”

Branch’s brain is full of mush. “Hefty—”

“Nah, m’done talkin’. Kiss me.” Then Hefty nips at Branch’s chin and nuzzles under his jawline. “C’mon Branch, I want you somethin’ awful.”

“But. . .” Focusing on whatever the noise is becoming a muffled sound at the end of a drawn tunnel all because of Hefty’s lips. “I-I hear something.”

“HmmMmm, s’probably my heart.” A kiss is lightly grazed along Branch’s neck and his vest’s peeled back to stroke a short lick on his shoulder. “You’re drivin’ me bonkers, silly troll.”

Branch chuckles harshly in the Smurf’s ear and grabs his head, steering him back to face him. “Dummy.” And rekindles their kiss.

Hefty’s writhing on top of him like the perfect demon on unsteady elbows, delirious to the brink of deciphering what felt the greatest; the sensation of his smooth chest frantically sidling against what feels like the tiniest prickles of fuzz and feeling bedazzled by how this troll is expertly introducing him to the world of kissing.

It’s Hefty’s very first and he swears to never share this moment with another as long as he lives. There’s this feeling of fullness filling his chest, cascading in roiling waves throughout his body. Of course, there is. It’d been decided for Hefty after he confessed his love for the troll. He’s helplessly drugged with love and seduction and the desire to finalize this bond.  

It requires so little, yet so very much to call it even between them. All Hefty needs is to hear those words echoed back. Just to have them whispered, shouted, mumbled, it doesn’t matter. It’ll be perfect. Branch has to say it back. Hefty needs it, he craves like the taste of him now.

Hefty retracts his head with the bottom of Branch’s lip pulled between his teeth and suckles it with sweeps of his tongue and dives in to reenact the same coils and strokes Branch did inside his mouth. The troll’s momentarily caught off guard and his eyes open in surprise. He sighs contently into the kiss, wrapping his arms around the large Smurf’s neck and squeezes him close.

Hefty reaches with mirrored vigor, snaking a hand into Branch’s hair to pull him at the most delectable angle to deepen the kiss and savor the way Branch’s moans seem to warm his innards. Branch tears free to attach his mouth to Hefty’s neck, sucking a mouthful of flesh between his teeth to worry it to a dark purple.

“Arg, _Branch_ ,” Hefty’s kiss-swollen lips map balmy paths wherever he can reach. “I love you so much,” he whispers. “Say you love me too.” Then he takes his grip in Branch’s hair to stop the troll from biting at his neck to look into his fogged eyes.

His expression of passionate exultation summons a hardening in Hefty’s britches; it’s a thickness unlike anything he’s ever had happen and by Mother Nature, something’s driving him to want to sink it so deep into Branch, they’ll have to be pried apart by the Gods themselves.

“Branch?”

“Yeah,” Branch husks with mild irritation. “W-what is it?”

Hefty’s mouth works through the saliva pooling beneath his tongue, eyes skating where flushed teal skin heaves high and low, the barest hint of moisture filming all over him and Hefty can’t really remember what it was he’d been about to say when Branch licks his bottom lip.

“Come on, Hefty, you said it can wait.” Branch lifts his head and drags a languid lick from one side of Hefty’s mouth to the other before dipping it inside the Smurf’s mouth.

Hefty sighs, takes it in for as long as he can before his heart begins a wild abandoned throbbed and he’s suddenly remembering what’s most important and pulls away again, hovering above Branch with crumbling control. “Branch, do you think, I mean. . .”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ya know, I said I love you and I just, I really wanna hear—”

The door to the library is suddenly pounded on.

_“Hefty! Hefty get out here!’”_

Hefty growls. “Now? Seriously, right now?” he sneers and shakes his head. “Whatever, it can wait. Branch, I—”

 **_Pound. Pound. Pound._ ** _“Hefty, you get your tail out here this instant. We have a huge emergency!”_

Hefty’s stomach quivers tore between ignoring Brainy’s loud knocks or continuing with what he was doing with Branch. One look down into that flustered face is all the answer he needs, and he decides that those three words can wait. The pain developing between his thighs, no, that cannot wait, and his instincts are screaming to fulfill this need in a hurry.

He dips his head to press his lips to Branch’s.

The kiss is short. Branch turns his head, gently pushing at Hefty’s chest. “You should get that.”

“Nah, it’s nothin’.”

“Don’t take it lightly, Hefty.” Branch works them up to sitting with their legs crossed, hands still glued to Hefty’s chest. He looks over the Smurf with uncensored yearning and shakes his head once more. He chuckles. “Maybe it’s something small. We can take care of it and then. . .” He playfully drags the last word, walking his fingers up the plane of smooth blue skin until reaching Hefty’s nose and taps it, “we can continue where we left off, yeah?”

Hefty takes the troll’s wrist and kisses it with a wink. “I’m gonna hold ya to that.”

“Count on it.”

The two situate themselves before heading towards the door. Hefty’s sure Brainy’s fist is swollen over from how hard he’s banging on it. Hefty grabs Branch’s hand and pulls him close, soft smile in place and opens the door. “Yeah, Brainster, what’s—”

Brain rushes through the door, stumbling over the pair and pulls a remarkably similar leg tangle that would even impress Clumsy. “Guys, guys, it’s huge, big time huge. It’s crazy, a massacre, bloodshed, drama, fighting, broken bones and Clumsy’s been—”

“Brainy, Brainy, chill out, you’re talking way too fast, bro!” Hefty grabs him by the shoulders to shake some sense into him. “Take a few breathes and tell us what’s going on.”

With him not as caught up in his theatrics, Hefty notices Brainy’s eyes are bloodshot red, his nose running and bruises peppering over his arms and shoulders. Brainy sinks into Hefty’s chest and wails. “They’re fighting, Hefty. Clumsy got hurt so bad. The entire village is in war and I can’t stop it. Alchemist went to go find Papa, but-but-but so much of the damage has-has already been d-done!”

“Clumsy? Is he alive?” Hefty hugs his brother close, stunned speechless. “Who are they fighting? Is it Gargamel? Were we ambushed? Talk to me bro!”

“They started it with us!”

Hefty’s rage rapidly piques. “Who did?!”

Brainy leans away with wet eyes and faces where Branch stands near the doorway, silently watching them from the door.

Brainy points past Hefty’s shoulder and whispers, “His people.”

“W-what?” Before Hefty has a chance to turn around, Branch is already out the door. . .

 

The time finally arrives when Creek chooses to make his strike.

Creek leaps his camouflaged position in the canopy and comes down fast aiming for his target’s unguarded flank, landing in the same silence he used to in his past training and his hair flying all around him. His hands spread to wrap around to braids of hair, flawlessly tampered to resemble cutlass blades.

His senses thrummed with the presence of flesh, blood, earth—

And the violent roar of recognition upon his victim catching him in midflight with a singular eye. power.

Just as Creek swings his weapon back for the blunt blow that will render the Smurf unconscious, the it performs an impossible feat and spins around with his fist clenched and connects flat into the blade’s groove and gazes directly into Creek’s eyes. The Smurf’s cobalt eyes morph into an indigo so brilliant and savage, that Creek feels his lips pulling back from his teeth in an instinctive snarl.

In the passing seconds Creek prepares to stick his landing, the Smurf’s fist ricochets off the sword and slides along its length towards Creek’s jaw, colliding with a sickening crunch. Creek loosens his jawline in time to lessen the full impact and feels several teeth loosened. He rolls away tucking his feet close to his belly and backflips at a distance. His stance is off, and he must propel himself back five more feet to bear himself upright and keeps the trailing edge of his weapon extended to ward of the creature from advancing.

But the Smurf’s already vanished. Perhaps to the underbrush since there’s so much of it and it would be a better position to ambush from.

“Damn it,” Creek hisses. Blood is spat on the ground as he charges towards the closest truck and pops off the side and up into the dense canopy.

That hadn’t gone at all how he’d expected. He anticipated a basic understanding of hand-to-hand offense and some heavy defense, but predicting tactical strikes? Creek sweeps a thumb where blood continues to leak, glaring the smear of orange, green and blue staining his finger. That’d been an unpleasant surprise. Now he must reevaluate his approach.

“Oi, you stupid haired freak, come out and take this smurfin’ butt whoopin’!”

Creek morphs his hair into large leaves and ducks within the cover, peering through a slim opening to where the Smurf appears in the open, casually tossing a rock up and down in his hand.

“Come on!” The Smurf roars and hurls the rock at Creek’s perch.

Creek keeps still when the rock connects even when the whole limb rattles like a tuning fork. For that tiny impact to cause so much disruption only amplifies what Creek somewhat expected. So hand-to-hand contact is out of the question. If he faces this creature head on with mere punches and kicks, just one will cause severe injury.

“Hey! You pack of rainbow rejects started this fight. What kind of warriors spring into war just to run and hide? Sounds pretty cowardly to me!”

Creek snorts at that. He hasn’t been provoked into a fight since he was a child. Only Branch has ever been successful in doing that.

“Damn it, I hate cowards!” The Smurf kicks angrily at the ground, stomping in a circle like a child whose toy was stolen. “I hate, hate, hate you stupid Trolls. You’re a bunch of stupid cowards. You get out here right now, so I can finish rearrangin’ your face!”

Creek smirks from his hiding place. That certainly wasn’t easy to figure out. So, the bloke isn’t a very patient one. He can use that to his advantage.

Creek slowly unfolds his hair and fashions it back into a curled stalk before hoping down to the ground below. Directly in front of his opponent and the surprise of his appearance fires the fool up more. Creek’s smirk widens. Whatever worries he held before, evaporate like a mist.

“If I had to guess,” Creek begins slow and polite, “I’d mark you as one of the weakest of your species.”

As predicted, the creature’s face darkens a rich purple. “What’d you say to me, you hairy freak?”

“With ears that big, I doubt you missed much. You can probably hear my thoughts. In which case, you probably know how little I think of you and your childish punch. We have elders who hit harder.”

“Oh yeah?” The Smurf smacks his fist into his palm. “Why don’t you let me reintroduce you to my fist again? Come on, I dare you!”

Creek shrugs a shoulder. “Why? If you’re that hard up for embarrassment, there’s easier ways to achieve it.” He chuckles saucily. “I think if you bent over for me, it wouldn’t make you less of a useless arse!”

“Why you!” The creature snarls and comes charging full speed.

 _‘This is going to be far too easy,’_ Creek thinks as he flicks his gaze in the same motion he sweeps his foot to the side. The Smurf comes in a straight, blind spring in Creek’s direction, mind and instincts blurred to what’s to come. Creek presses his weight into his weaker leg to support the swing of his foot slamming into the Smurf’s chest and accepts the shock of solid muscle contacting his smaller appendage. In exchange for that attack, the Smurf isn’t propelled as far as Creek had hoped and grabs Creek’s foot, but he uses the creature’s strong grip to ride his thigh up and brings his knee against the Smurf’s chin, relishing in the hoarse choke and gurgle of red blood bursting from its mouth.

A fiery thrill surges through Creek at the sight. He can break through the Smurf’s guard at this close range, aim for his solar plexus to stun him and properly restrain it.

Creek victoriously sounds off, rolling his elbow towards that bit the creature, ready and eager to put an end to this. He gives a savage twist to free his foot, landing on both hands and swirls his entire body to aim both his feet backwards. He thrusts them as a single hit, delivering a powerful strike to the creature’s plexus. It reels back caught between the pain in its chest and the coming blow connecting to its nose. The attacks don’t knock it off its feet though.

With one hand pressed to its nose to stifle the bleeding, it aimlessly flails the other to grab at Creek’s hair. Outside of snagging a few straights—easily detachable—the attempt is useless. And Creek doesn’t it give the chance to recover, quickly surging to an upright stance and charges headfirst into the Smurf’s side and knocks it flat on it’s stomach. He digs his elbow into it’s neck while using his hair to wrestle its wrists behind its back.

“Damn it, let go of me!”

“Not all of us suffer from your disease of stupid,” Creek taunts and tightens his hair’s cuffs. He snatches the hair from its roots and finishes securing the knots. He doesn’t care how strong this thing is. When a troll’s hair is knotted, there’s no nothing that can cut, burn or rip it apart.  “Now you stay here like the good little imbecile you are, and I’ll try to remember to untie you once this ordeal’s all over.” Creek cheekily smacks the Smurf on the cheeks. Then he remembers something, growls and aims a ruthless punch to the creature’s face and shoves its face in the grass. “And that’s for punching my perfect jawline. _Hmphed_! Disgusting beast.”

With that one troublesome obstacle out of the way, Creek rejoins his companions in their fight. With one of the lead warriors down, he doesn’t doubt they’ll be finish with this mayhem quickly. Then they can finally get to rescuing Branch and Poppy and returning home.

That had been all that glasses-wearing Smurf had to say to get Branch sprinting to the source of the noise happening outdoors. He knew he’d heard a strange thud and pounding, but he’d been so enraptured by Hefty, he’d ignore it and brush the thought aside.

Branch wishes he could kick his own ass for neglecting his instincts like that. Whenever there’s danger, he’s never failed to spring into action or to be ready for the worse. There’s no telling how long this has been going or how much it’s escalated. He wasn’t even sure if he was going in the right direction. Apart of him wanted to go and make sure Poppy was safe, and the other half knew she’d been foolishly going straight for the threat as well.

He isn’t wrong.

Up head, he can faintly make out a dash of bright pink scrambling at top speed towards the wildly moving outlines.

“Poppy!” he calls. “Poppy, wait!”

She slows, but doesn’t stop, to glance over her shoulder. “Branch,” she cries. “It’s Creek and the others,” she informs when he reaches her. “Farmer and Handy told me they attacked Clumsy—”

“What?!”

“Creek must have thought we were hurt or something.”

“That idiot!” Branch can’t believe that moron would jump to conclusions. That’s so weird. It isn’t like him. “You’re sure the Smurfs didn’t attack first?”

“What does it matter, Branch? We have to stop them before Creek hurts someone!”

“Right, right.” They can hash out the details later. Once Creek gets going, there’s no stopping him. Branch would know better than anyone. Poppy as well.

Branch’s eyes combed the scene nearing, searching for the source with the strongest strikes. By now Creek’s worked himself into a frenzy. Brainy said the fighting’s been going on for a while.

A low-pitched battle cry cuts through most of the resounding destruction of earth being ruptured and wood splintered to stiff ribbons. No matter where his gaze lands, there’s Troll against Smurf, Smurf against Troll. Zeroing in on them is difficult with the darkness and rapid mobility. Branch takes a firm hold of Poppy’s arm and keeps her tucked to his side as he rushes into the colliding masses.

“Do what you must to survive!” Is what Branch hears barked from the very core of this madness. “Take no prisoners. We won’t rest until our comrades are safe and sound!”

_‘Creek.’_

“That’s him,” Poppy sobs, tone divided between relief and fear. “Oh Branch, it is Creek!”

They dodge and maneuver around the countless punches, kicks and bodies being tossed all over. As they’re spotted by more and more of their fellow Trolls, their motivation to continue immediately comes to a halt and they’re thrown into a happiness that pierces them to the heart.

“Creek!” Branch calls out with all he has within him. “Creek!”

“Creek!” Poppy screams alongside him, voice cracking. “Please, Creek you have to stop this!”

Where Creek stands engaged in a confrontation with two Smurfs, his entire body locks, each joint stiffened and his labored breathing ceases. Those voices are so familiar, practically tuned to his ears. Despite his extreme unease with being outnumbered and his body raging to put the fools down, he’s unable to keep from spinning in two frenzied circles until he places the spot of where those voices called his name.

Amid the calamity, he makes out two distinguished colors coming his way.

No troll wears those common colors better.

“You. . . complete and utter dunderheads,” he affectionately murmurs. “And here I thought I had to worry.”

His mind’s nearly off the fight at hand until one of them moves in on his unguarded side and manages to sideswipe him. The hit grazes his hip when he dips to the side and brings his leg up for a flawless roundhouse kick to the creature’s head. He backflips to render the other unconscious with a swift chop to the back of its neck. They fall like a sack of rocks.

Creek straightens and turns in time to find himself suddenly tackled to the ground with his arms full of warmth, yelling and constricting hugs from two bodies. He doesn’t fight the embrace; their scent alone says they’re not a threat. It’s the first time in weeks he’s been able to finally, _finally_ breathe easier and he’s returning their hug with so much affliction because dear God, he thought they were gone. He had really thought the worse.

Creek kisses their cheeks and sighs. “Oh, you two are receiving a stern talking to when we go home. Glo-ri-a, it feels like forever and a day since I laid eyes on you!”

“We have so much to tell you that’s happened,” Poppy cries, laughing. Her eyes widen, and she looks above them and all around. “Creek you have to stop this.”

Branch lifts his head. “They’re not the enemy, idiot.”

Creek frowns, gently sitting them up. “They kidnapped you, didn’t they?” he questions, looking between them.

Branch shakes his head. “No, nothing like that. We’ll explain everything later after we stop this mess.” Branch climbs to his feet, helping them up with him. He can’t believe how violent this has gotten. He fears knowing far this has gone. “You didn’t kill anyone, right?”

Creek folds his arm. “That’d been on my agenda if I hadn’t found you in the next hour. Fortunate for them I suppose,” he adds with a growl. “You know how many of these ruffians touched me? _Me?_ My lovely complexion’s been marred all over with cuts, scrapes and bruises.”

“Where is Guy Diamond?” Poppy asks.

Creek thinks a moment. “Last I saw of him, he was fighting one of those blue things with the ribbon around his brow.”

“Karate,” Branch and Poppy sum up.

“I’m sorry?”

Branch waves it off. “Do you have a way to signal everybody at once?”

Creek shakes his head. “Not that we’ll need much of one. I see most of our people have seen you—which doesn’t vote well for us—Oi!” He winces when one of the Trolls receives a harsh punch directly in the face. The crunch of the impact is so pronounced, it echoes like hammered ice.

Creek brushes past them to defend his comrade when a blur of blue wind swiftly shoots past his peripheral, to his right, where Branch is. Creek can only spend three helpless seconds watching as Branch is brought down by a large body and following that is an even larger blur of black and grey. Because Poppy is closest, he’s able to snag her by the front of her dress and claim her under his body to avoid whatever it is flying past their heads.

Blood burst out from his shoulder and arm where the object sails by with the bottom sharp as a razor and there’s too much of it spilling in the grass to be just from him. He catches a glimpse of Poppy and right away knows she’s fine. Hs eyes skate quickly to where Branch is being cradled in the arms one of those things and a discolored wound spilling from Branch’s brow. Then Poppy’s screaming incoherently, hands folded over her mouth as she stares with transfixed horror.

“Branch,” Creek’s voice doesn’t shake the way his body does. The angry flaring within him taunts every muscle in his body, summons a brilliant crimson in his sights. Then his eyes are locking on the culprit responsible. The one holding him. He did it, didn’t he? Of course, he did. These blue savages are the ones who took his friends away. “You,” he doesn’t recognize his own voice. “What did you do?”

The creature looks up at with equal rage, teeth bared, chest heaving. “You did this,” it snarls back, pulling Branch to its chest.

Creek slowly comes to his feet, pushing Poppy behind him.

She grabs his arm. “Creek, no, it’s OK. He won’t hurt Branch—”

“I beg to differ, madam. It’s his kind’s fault we’re in this fight!”

“My kind?!” The Smurf stands with Branch safely pressed in the crook of his arms. “Branch is hurt because you stupid Trolls—”

Creek’s long hair whips out.

The creature’s arm comes out in time to have it coil around his forearm. He winds it around his arm thrice more and grabs ahold of the length. “Don’t you dare fight me with Branch in my arms. If he’s hurt because of you, I don’t care who the smurf you are, I will break you in half!”

Creek’s vision clears at the sound of Branch. His hair loosens and retracts. He boldly walks up to the creature, looking cautiously between him and his friend. With one hand, he lightly fingers over the gash leaking and sighs, relieved. It isn’t as bad off as he thought, so it must have been the fall that knocked him unconscious.

“Is he OK?” Poppy whimpers.

“He’ll be fine, love. No worries.” Creek steps away, glaring all shades of malice at the muscled creature before turning to Poppy. “I’ll see to gathering everyone.” He looks at the Smurf-thing, eyes still glossed with rage. “You either call off your dogs or I tell my people deadly force is optional.”

“As if it wasn’t before,” the creature sharply returns.

Creek narrows his eyes. “If it had been, you’d be extinct by now. Poppy,” he faces her, “do you think you can reach the others on your own? I want to take Branch to Flint.” The creature’s stance shifts several threatening steps back.

“Give him to me,” Creek dangerously punctuates each word with a step forward. “I said give him here!”

 “Not a chance,” the Smurf-thing protests, fingers curling tighter. “You think I’m gonna trust him with someone who has with no regards for his safety?”

“How dare you!” Creek imposes on the creature’s personal boundaries until Branch’s body is the only thing keeping them separate. “If anything, you’re the real danger here. He’ll be better off with me!”

“No.” It holds its ground, and besides pressing Branch’s cheek into its shoulder, the creature doesn’t relent.

“Why you filthy—”

“Creek, please.” Poppy touches his arm. “Hefty won’t hurt Branch.” She gives him a watery smile. Creek’s taken back by the affectionate gesture. “Branch couldn’t be in safer hands.”

The one named Hefty returns her smile. “Thanks Poppy.”

“That was before we arrived, but I digress” Creek goes on to say. He pats her hand. “I’m only allowing this because you seem to trust this thing. Poppy watch over Branch until I return. He’ll want to see _me_ when he wakes up,” he pointedly adds for the Smurf-thing to hear, gratified at the growl to follow. Creek loops a strip of hair into the high canopy and reels himself up.

He’s going to want a mighty large explanation from those two once they clear up this mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I wonder who threw that boulder....

**Author's Note:**

> This will be one of the few times I ask for everyone's opinion on this. Please tell me what you think if you're able. Otherwise, I hope you like the first chapter!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lean On Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13177626) by [PriestessOfNox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PriestessOfNox/pseuds/PriestessOfNox)
  * [Summer Tails](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13495004) by [Lantherien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lantherien/pseuds/Lantherien)




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